Dear Mr Hawkeye
by ladygris
Summary: A letter from a young fan changes the course of Clint Barton's life. Written as a birthday gift for my dear friend and beta, theicemenace.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to the Avengers or any of the wonderful characters. I'm just playing in their sandbox.

**Author's Note:** This story was written as a birthday gift for my close friend and faithful beta, **theicemenace**. There is a story behind this one, but I'll let her give me permission before I share it. Suffice it to say, it inspired this story. For those of you who are wondering, this story is complete. It was written inside of 48 hours and is not long or involved, mostly fluffy, sappy OC pairing for our favorite archer. There is some Steve/Natasha in here, very minor whump, and a lot of (hopefully) "Aww" worthy moments. Consider this your warning to brush after each chapter so your fanfic teeth don't rot. "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" was beta'd by the lovely **pisces317** and **MB86**. Thank you so much for your input, ladies! It is greatly appreciated.

Also, there may be some inconsistencies in the information about accounting in this story. I am no accountant, and the most work I've done in any field associated with money was either double-checking figures or cashiering.

Also, this story is _not_ connected in any way to my "New York State of Mind Series."

Without further ado, I give you the story. **Ice**, I hope you have a wonderful birthday, and a blessed year to come! ~lg

oOo

It had been a long mission. The job itself wasn't all that different from any other Clint had done before his little sabbatical with Loki. The reactions to him had changed. Director Fury welcomed him back after almost seven months of inactivity, saying the psychologists could find no reason for him to stay out of the field. Yes, Clint dealt with nightmares and likely always would. Yes, he had a few issues left to work through. But sitting around with nothing to do outside of Avenger business had worn on him. When Fury offered him a simple recon mission to Europe, he jumped just to get back into the world.

No, it wasn't the job. It was the _people_. SHIELD had strict policies concerning interpersonal relationships on the Helicarrier, and most of the crew abode by those policies. Partners were not allowed to engage in romantic relationships with one another, disputes were to be settled with minimum violence, and attacks of any kind would not be tolerated. But that didn't stop rumors and glares and whispers meant for him to hear. They called him a traitor, wondered if he even cared about the those killed in the attack, and generally speculated when he would once again betray them all. The truth was that Clint cared a great deal and wondered the same things. He just didn't let it paralyze him to the point he couldn't live. It meant trips to the Helicarrier were never easy anymore. The only place he felt at home was with the Avengers.

Granted, he didn't actually live _with_ them. While they all lived in Stark Tower for one reason or another, they weren't roommates like a twisted version of a frat house. Each one of them had their own apartment, and they respected those apartments like they would any other person's home in any other tower in the city. Clint had moved into the Stark Tower right away, his former home having been destroyed and his quarters on the Helicarrier vandalized. He appreciated Stark's offer of a place to live on the heels of that still-unreported incident and found himself truly relaxing here.

Now, he let himself into his apartment and set his bags at his feet. The walls had been done to look like exposed brick, the light fixtures bare and concrete floor covered in rugs. It was very similar to the apartment that had been destroyed, and he loved the exposed beams on the ceiling. The furniture was solid wood and fit the feel of the entire house. Peeling off his jacket, he hung it on the coat rack beside the door and then wandered into the kitchen.

A massive pile of mail rested on his desk nearby, but Clint ignored it in favor of starting a pot of coffee. His typical post-mission routine was to let said coffee brew while showering and slipping into jeans and a t-shirt. Sometimes, he and Natasha went out to dinner, but she was on her own solo mission. So, he settled for the coffee.

After his shower, cut short by the aroma wafting from the kitchen, he poured his first cup and wandered over to his desk. Part of the mail was legitimate bills, but most of it was fan mail. He quickly sorted it, tossing any envelope that had a woman's name or smelled like perfume into the trash. He set aside those with kids' handwriting for later. And filed the bills. Most of them were set up on automatic bill pay anyway, and it was only his credit cards. Stark covered living expenses, and he bought groceries as needed.

Carrying a second large cup of steaming coffee to the couch, he flopped down and started opening fan mail. It was snowing outside, with Christmas a little over a week away, and the fan mail gave him something to do. It had become a regular occurrence for all of the Avengers to receive copious letters, though Stark and Rogers got the lion's share. Clint, Natasha, and Bruce pulled in a fair amount, and Natasha had proven surprisingly gracious in how she handled it. She ignored the marriage proposals—like Clint, laughed at the scores of women trying to look like her—like Tony, and answered every child's letter by hand—like Steve. Clint also answered letters, but his chicken scratch was hard for even him to read, so he tended to type. He especially liked the kids' letters. They made him laugh, and he usually had one or two drawings to hang on his refrigerator. Since it was the only way he had to enjoy children's art, he ignored Stark's jabs whenever he had the Avengers over for dinner.

Today's batch of mail was no different. He received a letter from every kid in a third grade class in Michigan. They had talked about heroes, and their teacher included her own note of thanks in the large envelope. He found several drawings of himself—grossly over-exaggerated—as well as the typical childlike adoration. It always went a long way to soothe his mind, and he figured he could try to live up to their expectations. His shrink liked for him to receive the mail, and he even knew he was calmer after getting a child's letter saying they liked his bow.

Halfway through the pile, he came across an envelope addressed in a child's handwriting. The address read, "Mr. Hawkeye, Stark Tower, New York." Some kind postmaster somewhere had added the actual address and zip code. Tearing the letter open, Clint smiled at the writing. This kid couldn't be more than eight.

_Dear Mr. Hawkeye,_

_I am writing to ask you if you will take my aunt out on a date. Her name is Courtney Bauer, and she is very pretty. Her birthday is in January, and she told my mom that she wants to go on a date. Since she likes you after watching the news about the Avengers, I thought she might like to go on a date with you. Would you?_

_Sincerely,  
__Jeremiah Staterson_

For several minutes, Clint just stared at the letter. Other than Ms. Bauer's name, it contained absolutely no information on the woman. But the kid's thoughtfulness made him smile. A kid that would write a perfect stranger to make what was likely a joking statement come true. . .that was a kid Clint liked immediately.

But he set aside the letter and reached for another envelope. He had made it a policy to never date anyone. After all, his job was such that most women would panic after the first time he came home injured from a mission. And, as much as he loved Natasha, he couldn't bring himself to think of her that way. Not after years of surviving seemingly impossible events.

However, his mind wouldn't let the simple letter alone. He wound up holding one from Michelle in Las Vegas while thinking about Jeremiah. Years ago, before the circus and its chaos, he had wanted to get something for someone. His brother had seen a brand new football in town, and he'd mentioned to Clint that he'd like to have that for his birthday. Back then, Barney had been mostly selfless and wanted the football so he and the older boys in the orphanage could play with the real thing, not one that was rigged up. Clint had gone to the orphanage's director and made the request directly to him. The man said he would find a football for the children. Clint's spirits soared, and he looked forward to Barney's birthday until the day came and went without note. The promised football never appeared, and Clint had forgotten that disappointment in the wake of the fights and bullying that followed.

Now, at thirty-six years old, he remembered that incident and sighed deeply. Jeremiah had sent him a letter asking for something that seemed so insignificant. But, to a child, the insignificant things meant the world.

Deciding he could at least consider the request, he pushed off the couch and walked to the computer. Using the letter's postmark and the name, he began a bit of research. He had access to SHIELD's databases but figured he'd leave a little mystery rather than doing a full background check. Instead, he used his access only to locate Ms. Bauer, find out what she did for a living, and get a picture of her. She really was very pretty. Not strikingly gorgeous like Natasha, but beautiful in her own way. The picture he found was from the website for her job. She worked as an account manager at a bank in Amarillo, Texas. Her brown hair was shot through with natural blond highlights, and her green eyes sparkled at the camera. Her smile held a bit of mischief, making Clint wonder if she was the prankster on the job. Her clear skin and elegant clothes only enhanced her appearance.

Clint stared at her picture for a long time as he thought. Could he really make this little boy's request come true? Steve and Bruce would have tried to do so, but both of them drew the line at dating women they didn't know. So what was it about Jeremiah's letter that got to him? The faith that he would answer? That it was obviously done without Ms. Bauer's knowledge? Or the memory of having asked for something with such sincere honesty to have it ignored? He couldn't answer that, but he found himself making a decision. Next month, midway through, he was going to Amarillo and doing his best to fulfill a loving nephew's wish. He couldn't do it for everyone, but maybe he could make it happen for Jeremiah. If only in some small part to make the child in himself a little happier.

oOo

Halfway through January, Clint arrived in Amarillo, Texas, on a cold, windy, sunny day. Considering he'd left snow and gloom behind, he liked the sunlight. But dark clouds scudded across the sky, promising a storm before the day's end.

The bank where Courtney Bauer worked was in a decent-sized building that housed several other businesses. Unlike New York, where buildings like this towered dozens of floors into the sky, this one was only four stories tall. The first two floors belonged to the bank, and the others were leased to various corporations for local offices. Security was fairly tight here, and he quickly glanced around the lobby as he walked through the door. The high ceiling gave way to warm tan tile and carpet. Several people stood in line for the tellers to his right while a very pregnant lady waited behind a circular information desk to his left.

In the end, his psychologist was responsible for him being here. In the last few weeks, he'd vacillated between just thanking Jeremiah for his letter and actually taking Ms. Bauer on a date. When his shrink found out about the letter, he recommended that Clint go on the date. His reasoning was sound, Clint supposed. As a SHIELD agent and a member of the Avengers, his entire world revolved around his work. His psychologist wasn't suggesting he get a girlfriend just because, but he did say that Clint needed to form relationships outside of his job, friendships that would be beneficial in the long run. In taking Ms. Bauer on this date to make her nephew happy, he might find just such a friend.

The lady behind the information desk looked up as he approached. "Can I help you, sir?"

"Yeah, I'd like to open an account." He had considered his options and decided a direct, honest approach was best. So, he'd done a bit of research and figured this bank would be great to use for saving some extra cash—as if he needed it.

The lady nodded and motioned to a gathering of chairs. "Have a seat over there, and someone will be with you shortly," she said after taking his name.

Clint thanked her and settled in the only chair with the back against the wall. Like any other law enforcement officer, he hated the thought that someone could come up behind him and startle him. While he appeared to flip through one of the random magazines on the table, he watched everything going on around him. The information lady clearly knew who he was by the way she kept glancing over at him. One of the loan officers openly checked him out, giving him a smirk when he glared at her, and no one else approached him.

Then, Ms. Bauer appeared. She was even prettier in person than in her picture. She stood around five-five and wore an attractive green business suit that made her eyes sparkle. Her brown hair was long, falling down her back to her waist and held back in a simple ponytail. She'd had the front styled so that several strands of hair framed her face, and she moved with a grace that startled Clint when he spied the heels she wore. _How_ women could walk in them was a mystery, but he'd seen Tasha do it multiple times. Seeing a woman who was becoming more and more attractive by the moment wear shoes like that suddenly explained to Clint why Natasha deliberately chose them for missions.

Ms. Bauer walked over to the information desk, and Clint pasted a completely innocent expression on his face as she spoke with the information lady. He caught her startled glance his direction, the way her cheeks flushed slightly telling him that she recognized him, and how she surreptitiously straightened her clothes. He pretended to be absorbed in the article in Popular Mechanics, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at her, as she approached him. "Mr. Barton?"

Clint looked up and quickly jumped to his feet. "Just Clint," he said shaking her hand.

She smiled. "You want to open an account?"

"Yes." He followed her to her desk, doing his best not to check her out or act like he was a hormonal teenager. He'd seen some of the most beautiful women in the world, but this one account manager had gotten under his skin just by her appearance. Her blazer cinched perfectly at her waist, and her skirt was just long enough to cover her knees but left her legs looking like they went up to there. Giving himself a mental shake, he focused on her eyes and found them laughing at him.

"So," she began as he settled into a chair, "what kind of account are you looking for?"

"Uh. . ." He frowned. "A savings account. I'm based out of New York, but I come this way quite a lot. Thought I'd like to have something on this side of the country, as well."

"Okay." She pulled out paperwork and passed it to him. "I need you to fill this out, and I'll need your driver's license."

He hitched himself up on his right hip to pull his wallet out of his left pocket while taking the paperwork from her. After passing over the license, he focused on printing his name legibly in bold, block letters. After filling out all the required blanks, he let his gaze wander across her desk until it stopped on a picture of her with two boys on either side. "Your sons?"

She grinned, pointing at each one in turn. "Nope. My nephews. Jeremiah and Josiah."

Clint blinked at the unusual name. "That's different."

"My sister loved it." She went back to typing as he studied the picture. "She likes Bible names."

Clint nodded without commenting, his attention captured by the picture. Jeremiah Staterson grinned impishly next to his aunt, looking just like the kind of kid who would sneak out of the house to send a letter to one of the Avengers. He glanced over and caught Ms. Bauer watching him. "They look like great kids."

"They are." She decided to face him, her assessment frank. "So. Are you really Clint Barton?"

He couldn't help it. He laughed. "Yes, I'm really Clint Barton, though I think what you're getting at is if I'm really Hawkeye." He watched the flush that crossed her face again. "To which the answer would also be yes."

She shook her head. "Sorry. It's just. . . .A few days ago, I had some yahoo come through here trying to get money out and pretending to be someone he's not. To have one of the Avengers come through. . . ."

He understood and said so. Over the next few moments, they chatted lightly about New York's weather, the difference between there and Amarillo, and anything that crossed their minds. Clint found her easy to talk to and wanted to spend more time with her. All too soon, his account had been opened, and he held the information on it in one hand while standing to meet her eyes. "I know this seems a little weird, but. . . ." He took a deep breath and decided to just be frank. "Would you have dinner with me tonight?"

She blinked, and he saw the panic in her eyes. Before she could say anything, he raised a hand. "I mean, as friends. I'm only in town today, and I like talking with you. No pressure. Just two people having dinner at a steakhouse and going their separate ways. If I'm really that unbearable, you can feel free to ignore me the next time I drop by to make a deposit. Or just smack me or something."

His tongue-in-cheek answer made her laugh, and she shook her head. "The bank frowns on employees having relationships with our members."

"Just dinner."

She sighed. He could see the wheels turning and decided to add one final plea, using his best puppy-dog expression. "Please?"

That did it. She rolled her eyes, obviously amused with his antics, and chuckled. "Fine. I'll meet you at Hausler's." She gave him the address. "Seven work?"

Clint nodded. "It does." He met her eyes. "Thanks, Ms. Bauer."

"Courtney," she corrected with an answering grin.

He left the bank a few moments later with his day definitely brighter.

oOo

Courtney Bauer could not believe what had just happened. _Hawkeye_ had just asked her out to dinner! She'd seen the man sitting and waiting to open an account, and she'd been hard-pressed to _not_ stare. The only video she'd seen of one of the Avengers' most elusive members was grainy at best, but she'd been intrigued with how he used a bow and arrow instead of the expected gun or energy weapon. To find him sitting and waiting to talk to her, looking a hundred times better in person than he did on the screen. . . .She suddenly wanted to squeal in spite of how the bank would cause it to echo.

Marcy, her best friend and the "information lady," as most people called her, stood and waddled over with one hand on her rather large stomach. "So. . .?"

"I'm having dinner tonight with a member of the Avengers." Courtney's statement came out sounding absolutely disbelieving. She blinked and frowned. "What am I going to wear?"

Marcy dissolved into laughter, and the two women went their way. Dinner with Clint—she forced herself to think of him by his first name and not Mr. Barton or Hawkeye—wasn't a fancy affair. He'd likely show up in jeans and that leather jacket. Granted, he made casual clothes look like a designer suit. Today, he'd worn well-fitting jeans, a gray pull-over, and the aforementioned leather jacket. His gray-blue eyes sparkled, and he looked nothing like the focused man with a bow and arrow that she'd seen on television eight months ago.

The rest of the day passed in something of a haze as she mentally went through her closet and decided on what to wear. She figured she might as well make a good impression so, when she got home, she changed into a long denim skirt, high-heeled boots, and a green turtleneck sweater to combat the cold. Then, she pinned her long hair into a bun, wrapped her scarf around her neck, and shrugged into a wool coat. All too soon, she was at Hausler's, a locally owned steakhouse known for decent prices, great service, and wonderful food.

She spotted Clint as soon as she walked through the door. The greeter smiled, and Courtney motioned toward Clint as he stood. He still wore that leather jacket and looked just as amazing as he had earlier that day. His smile brightened his face as she approached, and he caught her coat as she slipped out of it. With her scarf joining it on the back of the chair next to her, she settled at the table and wondered what to say.

Clint obviously had no problems. "Thanks for meeting me." He smiled ruefully, his face showing a touch of regret. "But I have to be honest."

Courtney's heart fell. If something was wrong, why had he asked her out? "O—okay."

He eyed her. "Don't get me wrong, I probably would have asked you out anyway." He leaned on his elbows. "But the reason I came was because I got a letter. From Jeremiah."

She felt her face pale and then flush as he produced the letter. She read it, from the "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" opening down to his name in his childish scrawl. Part of her wanted to crawl into a hole and pull it in with her. The other wanted to laugh. She chose the latter reaction. "I am so sorry! He said he wanted to write you, but his mom told him no."

He grinned. "I'm glad he did." The grin fell off his features, and his tongue made a brief appearance as it touched his lips in a move that was both alluring and infinitely uncertain. "The last few months haven't been easy. Since the attack. So, getting letters from the kids has helped. A lot. Jeremiah's was one of the best."

Seeing as she was already here, Courtney decided to settle into the dinner and treat it as if they were friends. "Why is that?"

"Because he didn't write wanting a picture for himself or to show off _his_ artwork." Clint met her eyes. "Don't get me wrong, I love those letters. But he wanted to do something for someone he cares about a great deal, and I know a little of what that's like."

Courtney held his gaze as she caught the meaning behind the words. She couldn't understand the weight he put on them, but he sincerely _wanted_ to be here, with her, having dinner and laughing. Somehow, fulfilling her nephew's request had become incredibly significant to this member of the Avengers, and Courtney didn't have the heart to walk out. She smiled at him. "So, you came and opened an account just to meet me?"

"Yep." Just like that, the lighthearted man from the bank had returned. He sat back in his chair and picked up his menu. "I'm paying, by the way, and the only embarrassment I promise is to have everyone sing Happy Birthday to you."

For some reason, that promise made her laugh again. And she relaxed. When he produced Jeremiah's letter, she'd been ready to bolt out of the restaurant and never show her face again. But Clint spun the letter to make it seem such a wonderful gift, and she figured the least she could do would be to enjoy Jeremiah's birthday surprise since her plans to meet with her family had fallen through.

Picking up her menu, she quickly decided on what she wanted and was surprised when Clint ordered for both of them. As soon as the server had left their table, he started a conversation about her life and family. He wanted to know everything about her nephews, including their ages, and he gently probed her life as well. She learned he was also single, that he lived in Stark Tower, and that he considered the Avengers his family while he learned she was single due to a bad experience, lived in a small apartment, loved working with banking institutions but not the job she had now, that her nephews were huge Avengers fans, that her sister had three dogs and two cats, and that her brother-in-law was in the Army National Guard. Somehow, he made the mundane details of her life seem important and, by the time dessert rolled around, she'd started a conversation about different kinds of bows just as a way to draw him out. He clearly loved his chosen weapon, and it wasn't so close to the attacks in Manhattan that he couldn't talk about it. He happily regaled her with the differences between longbows, recurve bows, compound bows, and crossbows as she mentally took notes in case they ever spoke again.

As promised, he had the waitstaff sing Happy Birthday to her, and she laughed until she couldn't breathe as he grinned happily from his chair. Then, she looked at the massive brownie and ice cream concoction. "You're eating part of this."

"Okay." Clint picked up his spoon and helped her finish off the dessert. He eyed her as she scraped the last of the chocolate off the plate. "Got your phone?"

Courtney blinked. "What?"

"I get the feeling Jeremiah's going to want proof," he said simply, though his eyes sparkled.

She laughed. "You have _no_ idea! I was just sitting here wondering how on Earth I was going to get a picture out of you for him."

He grinned again and took her phone from her. Then, waving down their server, he asked the guy to take several pictures of them. He tugged Courtney around to his side of the table then hammed it up for the camera, making her laugh like a teenager every time. By the time he was done, she had three silly and one serious picture of the two of them. He looked over her shoulder, invading her space and giving her the chance to breathe in his aftershave while studying the images. Her favorite wasn't the serious one, though it was a wonderful picture. She liked the one with his tongue hanging out of his mouth and his nose wrinkled as she threw her head back and laughed. Why he'd done that remained a mystery, but it epitomized what she knew of Clint Barton. He might be a man with dark secrets as evidenced by the shadows in his eyes, but he was still a kid at heart. And that's why he'd gone out of his way to make Jeremiah's birthday request for her come true.

A short while later, after he'd paid for their meal, they walked into the cold Amarillo night side by side. He moved gracefully, his hands shoved into his pockets as he stared into the sky. "Thanks," he said softly, all of a sudden very serious.

Courtney blinked at him. "It was my pleasure, Clint. Really. I had a great time, and I'm glad you decided to give Jeremiah his wish."

He looked at her then, and the weight of his gaze startled her. His hand came out of his pocket, and he held a simple white card out to her with a number printed on it. "That's my personal cell," he explained. "If you need anything—I don't care how unimportant it seems—give me a call."

"Clint, I can't just. . . ."

"I don't have many friends, Courtney," he interrupted her. "And, after laughing with you in there, I'd like to think I have one in Texas."

There was a _lot_ more to the story, and she knew it by the almost desperate way he used the word "friends." But she nodded anyway. "Next time you're out this way, I'll see if I can get Jeremiah and Josiah to come along."

His smile stretched across his face. "I'd like that."

They stood there for a few moments, neither of them wanting the evening to end but both of them knowing their time had run out. Finally, Clint nodded. "Have a great evening, Courtney." He turned and walked toward a truck parked several spaces away.

She quickly dug into her purse to pull out her cell phone. Tapping the screen to enter his number, she watched as he paused, blinked at his phone, and then stared at her. She shrugged. "Now you have my number. Call sometime. We'll talk."

Leaving it at that, she headed for her car and slipped behind the wheel. She still needed to have a conversation with Jeremiah about writing the letter, but it would be much different from the one she'd planned when Clint first told her that he'd come to Amarillo because of Jeremiah. She'd explain that asking people out for his aunt wasn't appropriate and then show him the pictures of the two of them making silly faces. She spotted Clint watching as she pulled out of the parking lot and lifted a hand in farewell. Once home, she again studied the pictures on her phone and then picked her favorite—the one with his tongue hanging out and his face scrunched up—for her wallpaper.

Just wait until Marcy saw this!

~TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:** Wow! Thanks for such a great response, everyone!

**Cara:** Thank you so much for your review! I was going for "Awww!" LOL! Updates will be daily this week, just so you know.

Okay, after speaking with **theicemenace**, I can now tell you the story of how this one originated. Ice's nephew told her that he wanted to ask Jeremy Renner to come out for her birthday. I heard the story of that and thought, "There's a fic in there!" And, at 11:30 at night, "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" was born! Nothing very spectacular, but very heartwarming and sweet. I couldn't get Jeremy Renner out for her birthday, but I could at least get Clint to make an appearance!

As always, hope you enjoy this chapter! And kudos to anyone who catches the Renner line from another of his movies (not to mention a nod to a third movie with the same line)! ~lg

oOo

Clint left the parking lot of the restaurant with a smile on his face. Dinner with Courtney was everything he'd hoped for: light, fun, with enough serious conversation to give it weight but not so much that it drug him down. Now that the dinner had ended, he understood why his psychologist wanted him to develop friendships outside of work. With the Avengers, they knew one another well and were very aware of triggers and bad experiences. Natasha and Clint had so much history that everything reminded them of something. And SHIELD. . . .Clint pushed away his thoughts on SHIELD to examine for another day. Even eight months after the attack, the animosity hadn't faded.

Choosing to consider whether or not he'd come back to Amarillo, he dropped the rental truck at the airport and made his way back to the Quinjet. He liked Courtney. She was beautiful and had a wonderful laugh. And she understood his sense of humor. When she looked at him, she did so with only a hint of the hero worship that everyone else thought he desperately needed. He knew she thought of him as a hero, but she didn't make him feel uncomfortable about it. And her interest in the different types of bows. . . .The entire package was an appealing one, and he really didn't need much more than thirty seconds to decide he'd be back to Texas.

Settling into the Quinjet, Clint refocused his attention on his mission. After his discussion with his psychologist, he'd gone to see Fury about this trip to Phoenix, Arizona. One of the gangs there had begun communicating with an arms dealer that SHIELD monitored. Clint had been sent to do several days' worth of surveillance and report back his suspicions and what he'd found. It was no more dangerous than any other mission, and these particular gang members weren't international terrorists or a hostile intelligence agency that would torture him for information. Nor were they particularly well-trained. He could easily escape—and _had_ escaped—from their custody. Not that he was trying to be cocky. He just knew his skills and abilities.

He arrived in Phoenix before dawn and set down at a private air strip that SHIELD maintained. They came out to the Southwest often, and Clint shook his head as he stepped out of the jet. He'd left Amarillo in below-freezing weather and arrived in Phoenix to a day that would likely top out in the seventies. He paused to shrug out of his leather coat and pull his sleeves toward his elbows. After being in New York, this was positively summer weather!

The next three days passed slowly as he settled into his safe house, set up his surveillance, and spent hours listening to the gang's leaders cuss at each other and in general prove that stupidity did exist in the world. They were dangerous, but they weren't very smart about it. The rivalries within the gang were concerning for the sake of Phoenix, but Clint could find no other reason outside of a gang war that would have them contacting someone that SHIELD monitored. He planned to recommend a long-term undercover operation for one of SHIELD's specialists, but his work was done.

Back on the Quinjet, he pulled out his phone and thought for a moment. During odd hours on his mission, he'd thought about Courtney and their dinner. Had she told Jeremiah about going out yet? What did Jeremiah say? Was she still upset at her nephew, or had she forgiven him? And would she welcome a text? He had no other contact information for her, and he couldn't exactly give her a call right then. Besides, it was the middle of her work day.

Tapping out a message on his phone screen, he hit the Send button before he could change his mind. Then, he flew back to the Helicarrier while composing his report in his head.

oOo

The morning after their dinner, Courtney fairly floated into work. She had just appeared at her desk when Marcy waddled over. If possible, her friend looked bigger today than she had yesterday. But a huge grin was on her face, and she waggled her eyebrows. "So. . . .?"

Courtney worked to stop the flush that crossed her face. "So, we had dinner, talked, laughed, exchanged numbers, and went our separate ways."

"That's it?" Marcy looked disappointed.

Courtney laughed. "Yes, that's it! He's a _friend_, Marcy, one I just met. I'm not going to. . .I don't know. . .jump in the sack with him just yet!"

"Aha!" Her friend's finger went into the air. "You said 'yet.'"

"Figure of speech." She shooed Marcy away and settled into her job. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't stayed awake for hours last night, reliving every little moment of the dinner. But she also wanted to be pragmatic. Clint had showed up for one reason: her nephew's letter. And, while he seemed to enjoy himself, she had no cause to believe he'd think of her beyond that one dinner and their time together. If she ever did call him, she didn't expect for him to do much beyond remember helping a little boy's dream come true.

Which reminded her that she needed to have a talk with her nephew. She smiled at the picture of her nephews that she kept on her desk and shook her head. Josiah was the eldest at twelve, full of himself and giving his parents grief. Jeremiah was eight and as precocious as he was adorable. He'd found a way to send a letter to Hawkeye. That Hawkeye had actually showed up spoke to the kind of man Clint Barton really was.

But the conversation would have to wait. The reason her evening had been free in the first place was because her sister and family had gone on vacation. Courtney didn't envy them the time away, but she did wish they'd planned things a little better. It turned out that she needn't have worried, but it had stung for a time.

The next few days passed quietly, and Courtney forced herself to settle once again into her life. A date with a celebrity did not necessarily mean a _relationship_ with a celebrity, so she refused to get her hopes set on anything beyond what she had. Marcy finally stopped telling all their friends that Courtney had gone on a date with _the_ Hawkeye, and her sister was mortified to find out what Jeremiah had done. Together, they sat down with the boy and explained that he couldn't just write to anyone he wanted without permission. Then, Courtney showed the family the pictures that Clint had insisted on taking and laughed with them at the way he'd behaved. She liked that he was a bit childish in some things. It helped tone down just how broody he said he could be.

Three days after their date, her phone buzzed in the middle of the day. She reached for it, completely distracted by a problem with a member's account, and simply glanced at the screen. What she saw made her stop in her tracks.

_Really enjoyed dinner the other night. Would love to do it again next time I'm in Amarillo. ~Clint_

Her train of thought completely derailed, she stared at the message and wondered what to do now. Most guys would have texted the next day, but she also knew Clint was a busy man. Getting the text now, after three days, meant he was thinking about her. Or, so she hoped. She wasn't the greatest when it came to relationships, hence why she'd settled for her life as a single woman. Her thumb hovered above the screen as she wondered exactly what to say. Finally, she started typing.

_Had a great time as well. Showed Jeremiah the pics, and he loved them. Told me to tell you "hi." Hope you're in Amarillo soon._

After hitting send, she went back to work. When her phone buzzed again, she resisted the urge to snatch it up. Her supervisor didn't mind his employees sending the occasional text while on the clock, but she was actively working, not filling time with mindless paperwork. After she'd found the problem in the account she'd been looking at, she called the account holder, worked out the issue, and again picked up her phone.

Clint had returned her text. _Tell Jeremiah I'll stop in and meet him next time. What sort of things does he like to do?_

Courtney blinked. Clint wanted to spend time with her nephew? It would make Jeremiah's year, but it also indicated that he liked her as well. She pushed down the giddiness that tried to well up and responded to his message. _He likes to write and sing and play baseball._

_I can do baseball._ Clint's response was immediate.

Courtney chuckled at that. _I don't know anyone who can't at least imitate baseball. That's what I do._

_LOL! Hate to cut this short, but meeting's starting. Talk soon._

The phone fell silent after that, but Courtney didn't mind. He'd said they would talk soon. Did that mean he planned to call? Or just text? She really wished she understood how men's minds worked so she could figure out if this was friendship being offered or something more profound. As it was, she'd have to settle for questions and the realization that Clint really did want to spend time with her and her family.

oOo

Natasha peeked over Clint's shoulder and read the last text as he sent it. "'Talk soon.' Who's that?"

Clint slipped his phone in his pocket as he blinked at her. "A friend."

She gave him The Look and turned her attention to Fury, who waited for his report on his mission. Two hours later, after having talked more than he cared to, Clint left the Helicarrier for New York. He was tired and ready to sleep in his own bed that night. It looked like he'd be headed back to Amarillo sooner than he'd anticipated, but this operation might require more surveillance to get an agent planted within the ranks of the gang. It worked in his favor as he'd get to see Courtney again and meet her family. So he chose not to think about the negatives of it.

Natasha glanced over from the copilot's chair. "So. Who were you talking to?"

Clint sighed. He wouldn't be getting out of this one. "Her name's Courtney Bauer."

"A woman?"

"Don't look so shocked!"

"I'm not. It's just. . . ." She trailed off, and Clint narrowed his eyes. He didn't have to say anything, though, because he understood.

"I got a letter from her nephew just before Christmas," he explained anyway. "He asked me to take his aunt on a date because she wanted to go on a date for her birthday."

Natasha blinked at him. "I thought you said you wouldn't go on dates with women who wrote you."

"I didn't." Clint shrugged. "Her _nephew_ wrote me. Besides, all the kids ask for things like pictures and autographs and to one day meet us. This kid wanted something to make someone else happy. Not himself."

Natasha sighed. "I guess I can understand that."

"Nat, what would you do if a little girl wrote, asking you to come see her dad for some reason?"

The Black Widow's face cleared, a sure sign he'd hit a nerve. "It would depend on the reason, but I'd probably go see him. But I wouldn't go on a _date_ with him."

"Of course not. Rogers would get upset." Clint spoke quickly, overriding her protest that she and Rogers weren't seeing each other. "It wasn't a date. It was two adults sharing dinner and enjoying each other's company."

"Which is the very definition of a date," she retorted.

"And neither of us were looking for one." Clint thought for a moment. "I had a great time and will probably stop in to see her next time I head to the West Coast. I like her, Tasha. She's not SHIELD or law enforcement or anything like that."

Natasha didn't say anything else, though he knew she'd likely have more to say as time went on. She understood, though. In their line of work, it was rare to find someone outside of the job that they could be comfortable with. If he'd found that with Courtney, she wouldn't stand in his way.

Back at the tower, Clint settled into his apartment and made a small dinner for himself. He had more mail, but he really didn't want to read anything right then. Instead, he moved to the turntable, put on a soft jazz record, and stood on the balcony Stark had added to his apartment. It was cold, but he didn't mind. He was home. For the first time in months, he found himself feeling a bit lonely and wondered if that was just his life or because he'd met a woman who intrigued him for the first time in years.

oOo

The letter came about a week later, this time with the proper address on it. Clint had been sorting through the growing pile of fan mail, no longer able to ignore it, and he wondered if Stark shouldn't hire an assistant just to do this. It took time he would rather spend on the shooting range or playing his guitar or sparring with Natasha. But he couldn't see the top of his desk anymore and decided that this was better than watching it scatter across the floor.

At the familiar childish scrawl, a smile spread across his face. He immediately opened the letter and chuckled at the greeting.

_Dear Mr. Hawkeye,_

_Thank you for taking my Aunt Courtney to dinner. She told me all about your visit and said you might visit me! She even has your picture on her phone now. The one with you sticking out your tongue._

_My mom said I had to write and say thank you, but she didn't need to remind me. I'm glad you decided to take my Aunt Courtney out._

_Sincerely,  
__Jeremiah Staterson_

Clint actually laughed aloud at the letter. He knew exactly which picture that Courtney had put on her phone. The waiter had taken four of them, only one with him smiling politely. The other three, he'd made faces just to get her to laugh one more time. That laugh had kept him smiling for days now, and he suddenly wanted to hear it again.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was past the hour when she'd get off work. He reached for his cell and typed in the number he'd memorized out of habit days ago. It rang several times before he heard Courtney's voice. "_Hello?_"

Still holding the letter from Jeremiah, he smirked. "Have pictures of me on your phone, do you?"

There went that laugh again. Even through the phone, it made him smile. She seemed embarrassed and complimented at the same time. "_Jeremiah wrote you._"

"Yup. Got another 'Dear Mr. Hawkeye' letter."

She snickered. "_I told him your name was Mr. Barton._"

"I like Mr. Hawkeye." He dropped onto his couch. "What are you up to today?"

"_Enjoying staying up late. I have tomorrow off._"

Clint did some quick calculations in his head and realized the next day was Saturday. Unfortunately, he had things to get done in New York, or he might have found a way to fly out to Amarillo. Instead, he answered honestly. "I didn't realize that."

"_You don't take time off?_"

"Not like you." He chuckled mirthlessly. "My job isn't the type that has set hours. It all depends on the day and the mission."

She hesitated. "_Can I ask what kinds of missions?_"

Clint stared out the window. For once, New York was sunny and clear. Did he really want to answer that question? Or did he gloss over what he did for a living? "It depends on what's going on. Sometimes, it's surveillance. Sometimes, it's undercover work." He hesitated and then took a deep breath. "There's parts of my job that are pretty dark, Courtney. I don't deny that. And I can't say that I'll always be in the mood to talk about it. Or that I can talk about it."

"_I see._" She fell silent for a minute before continuing, "_I'll try not to ask, then._"

The warmth in her tone made him smile. "You can ask. Just don't be surprised if I can't or won't say. Or if I show up with minor injuries. Not all the missions go smoothly."

This time, she snorted. "_I saw the news footage of Manhattan,_" she reminded him. "_Was that going smoothly or not?_"

"Definitely not." He shook his head. "I went through a window." _After having been mind controlled by a megalomaniac_, he added quietly.

"_You got thrown?_"

"Jumped off a building." He _so_ wished he could see her face right then. As it was, he felt a little bad when she made a strangled noise. "I had my grappling arrow with me and had to jump." He braced his elbows on his knees. "I was fine."

"_Just a little insane!_"

"You have to be to do this job." Clint shrugged, enjoying how well she seemed to be taking the news of his life. "Honestly, it's normally mundane missions where I sit and listen to my partner get the information we need. That's it."

"_So you're just the helper?_"

Having heard that line in a recent action movie, Clint snickered. "That's me. Clint the Helper."

She laughed again. "_That's not what I meant!_"

"I know." He braced his elbows on his knees. "So, how's life over there?"

For the next hour, they chatted like they had over dinner. He tried to be a little more open with her while still preserving SHIELD's anonymity. When the attack on Manhattan occurred, his and Natasha's identities and grainy footage of them had been released to the press. SHIELD had stepped in, but some of it had been broadcast. Thankfully, it was mostly contained and didn't show much of his face. But he was glad Courtney had seen it. It gave her an idea of just how wrong things could go while not really letting her see some of the worst times he'd had in the field. He had scars on his body that would be difficult to explain, and going into a friendship with the understanding that his work wasn't the easiest meant they'd be on better footing if that friendship went anywhere else.

When his phone beeped, indicating a low battery, Clint reluctantly said goodbye and hung up. Courtney sounded as disappointed as he felt, and he couldn't resist adding "See you soon" to the end of the call. Plugging the phone into the charger, he wandered into the kitchen to make something to eat. He was restless and, after thinking a few minutes, decided to go for a run. By the time he returned, he was ready for a shower, food, and bed. He fell asleep thinking about Courtney and slept through the night for the first time that week.

oOo

The next several weeks flew past without Clint realizing what was happening. Before he knew it, he was back in a Quinjet and headed for Amarillo and then Phoenix. The gang investigation had taken a turn that drew the Feds' attention, and SHIELD had sent him to coordinate with them in hopes of capturing one of SHIELD's Most Wanted. And it happened in such a way that Clint could spend a Saturday in Amarillo.

He and Courtney had stayed in constant contact during the weeks. At first, she waited until he initiated contact, and then she texted him one day to ask for his email. Something had happened at work that she found hilarious, but it had been too long for a text. That sparked a long email conversation that went from the incident at work—which _had_ made him laugh—into a discussion about her family. The topics came up as freely and whimsically as possible, and Clint tried to be honest. It was easier when he wasn't looking her in the eye and couldn't see the rejection there when he mentioned the darker side of life. But she always responded to him, whether she agreed or disagreed. He felt like he'd come to know Courtney a bit better through her emails and their Friday evening phone calls.

Those calls became the highlight of his week. He made certain to keep his phone fully charged. They had even watched a movie together in spite of being seventeen hundred miles apart, and he learned that Courtney liked to keep a running commentary. She hadn't seen this particular movie and he had, so some of her comments had him choking on his drink or popcorn—a necessity when watching any movie. He hadn't laughed that hard in a long time, and he found the simple act of enjoying a movie with a friend helped him relax in a way that he hadn't been able to do in a year.

Arriving in Amarillo, he rented the same truck he'd driven last time and arrived at the bank just before closing on Friday. He slipped through the door and smirked when Courtney walked purposefully into the area only to stop in her tracks. The way her face lit up made him smile, and he sauntered over to her desk as she started clearing it. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

She rolled her eyes at the opening. "Didn't you ask me that last night?"

"Yes, but I meant tomorrow, not tonight." He shrugged. "So. Dinner tonight?"

"Of course." She met his eyes with a genuine smile. "It's good to see you again."

"You, too," Clint agreed with a nod.

oOo

Saturday passed way too quickly for Courtney. The night before, she and Clint had again returned to Hausler's and sat in the same booth as last time. This dinner was different, however. Courtney was surprisingly comfortable with Clint in spite of the way her heart rate rose whenever she looked at him. And he seemed to relax as well. Their conversation ranged into some deeper subjects, and he listened closely when she told him about a conflict with her boss. The advice he gave her was sound, and she appreciated him even more for that.

Saturday around lunch time, Clint showed up at her apartment and packed her into his truck. She gave him directions to her sister's house, and the two of them surprised her nephews with a trip to the park. Josiah seemed just as starstruck as Jeremiah, and the two boys ate up the attention that Clint lavished upon them. He was great with kids, probably because he really was a kid himself, and Courtney saw another side to him. With her, he was a mixture between brooding and fun, sometimes lapsing into dark silences while he debated how much to tell her. With her nephews, he put away anything that made him brood and just focused on the fun.

She also learned a great deal that day. Clint opened up with her nephews—and her—about a bit of his childhood, and Jeremiah thought it the greatest thing to find out Clint had learned to fire a bow in the circus. Josiah had asked the question innocently, and Courtney had been hard-pressed not to gape at him when he matter-of-factly told them about Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders and how Trick Shot had taught him to shoot. She caught the shadows in his eyes at the mention of Trick Shot and steered the conversation away from the man, and Clint had thanked her later. There were things about his past he wasn't exactly ready to divulge, and he appreciated her discretion. _That_, more than anything else, proved he'd been telling the truth about the circus.

That evening, Courtney stood outside her apartment and awkwardly said goodbye. Clint eyed her for all of two seconds before pulling her into a warm hug. She let him hold her for a bit longer than necessary and then stepped back. He waved as he drove off, and she went back inside. What was she doing? Clint lived in New York and traveled the world. She was just an account manager at a bank—one grossly overqualified for her job and unable to get ahead. She wasn't exciting or exotic or anything a man like Clint would want.

She would have been surprised to know that Clint entertained similar thoughts, though in relation to her. He wondered at the wisdom of getting involved with Courtney given the nature of his job. She was beautiful and innocent, qualities that he adored but gave him reason to doubt her interest in him. What kind of woman like that would see anything more than a murderer and traitor?

In the end, both of them decided to see where this was headed. And both of them hoped they wouldn't get their hearts broken in the process.

~TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note:** The Renner line...**eicarG** guessed the movie it hinted at, but the line was "So, you're just the helper?" from The Bourne Legacy. In the movie, Jeremy's character, Aaron, says that to Rachel Weiss's character, Marta. However, Renner used a similar line, "I'm just the helper," in Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol.

**Cara:** I am so glad you're enjoying the story! :) Hope you enjoy this chapter, too.

**JinxedCobra:** Thank you! I'm really glad you're enjoying the story! And updates will be daily.

As always, hope you enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

Over the next several months, Clint and Courtney exchanged texts, emails, phone calls, and spent whatever time they could snatch together. She talked often about surprising him in New York, but his job made it possible for him to travel. The Avengers learned of the relationship, and Stark insisted on calling Courtney his "girlfriend" or "Cowgirl." And he knew Courtney's friends teased her about him as well. She'd told him Marcy referred to him as her "boyfriend" even if they'd not made any decisions about their relationship. For the moment, it was a close friendship that both of them enjoyed and neither were too eager to change.

Clint's psychologist was amazed at the progress he made after he and Courtney began their friendship. He admitted that he wanted to tell her about Loki and what he'd gone through, but a good portion of that brought up some serious doubts. Would she even want to spend time with him after learning he'd been brainwashed by a recent enemy of Earth? He suspected it wouldn't phase her. Nothing had up to this point, and he'd revealed a lot about himself. He hadn't told her the whole story of Trick Shot, but she knew he'd nearly died before sixteen, that he'd been a runaway and uneducated until he'd reached adulthood, and that SHIELD had kept him alive more often than not. But telling her about Loki needed to be done face-to-face, as much as he didn't want to do that. So, he shied away from the topic and made up his mind to tell her that story when the time was right.

The missions to Phoenix came to a halt, but that didn't stop Clint from showing up at least once a month in Amarillo. SHIELD had nabbed their man, and Clint had been in on the take-down. He'd stopped in Amarillo on the way back to New York and took Courtney out to dinner at a different place to celebrate. She hadn't pushed him to talk about his work, and she'd graciously ignored the bruises he sustained from yet another multi-story fall. This time, his grappling arrow had slowed his descent but hadn't prevented him from hitting pavement hard enough to leave a mark. It made walking difficult, and she'd done her best to ignore the wince he'd been unable to stop when he'd straightened his knee. She worried for him, he knew, but she kept her worries to herself and trusted him to know when he'd had enough.

Their emails changed in tone after that, though. They became more serious, less shallow. After he'd had a chance to get home and rest, she had told him how worried she'd been and that he shouldn't have stopped to see her if he was injured. Clint put the kibosh on that particular mentality by telling her that seeing her actually helped him decompress from the mission. No one had been killed, and he had a sore knee for about a week. Nothing more.

But he knew that wouldn't stop the worry. Courtney might have accepted that his job had its dangers, but she didn't know everything about it. After three months of corresponding and going to occasional dinners, Clint realized that he was quickly coming to care deeply for her. That he wanted her to understand everything about him, from the circus to Barney to why he and Natasha were so close to what he really did for a living. He _needed_ her to know about Loki and the chaos he'd gone through. All of these things made up who he was, and he preferred seeing the fear and revulsion for himself rather than letting her tell him over the phone that it was okay. So, he made plans to go to Amarillo at his earliest convenience and informed his psychologist that he'd be telling her everything. It had been ten months since Loki's attack, after all, and he was tired of everyone tiptoeing around the subject. His psychologist had been surprisingly supportive and badgered Fury into giving Courtney the appropriate security clearances to know what Clint wanted to tell her.

The week before his planned trip to Texas, Clint and Natasha drew the short straw. They were sent on a mission to Belgrade, one in which Natasha needed to get close to a mark and take him out. Clint's surveillance in Phoenix had paid off in more than just the arrest of the arms dealer. SHIELD had found the dealer's bosses and wanted them eliminated.

The mission went sideways from the beginning. Natasha had infiltrated a party wearing a slinky black gown that would turn any guy's head, and Clint had watched her back from his vantage point above the garden. Somehow, in spite of her carefulness, the mark had been tipped off to their presence and slipped some sedatives into her drink. Before Clint could get to her, Natasha was taken into their custody, leaving him to find a way to get her out. Trusting that she would do what it took to survive, he made certain he didn't try to infiltrate their base in a panic. Instead, he found a way to sneak in and learn what they were doing to his partner. At that time, Natasha had been kept in a cell waiting for someone higher up in the chain of command. Clint had twenty-four hours to get her out before things got really ugly.

As it was, things still got ugly. Clint managed to get to her cell, pick the lock, and get her out. She was barefoot, wearing a torn gown, holding destroyed shoes, and in a very bad mood from it all. They fought their way out and were almost in the clear when one of the criminals threw a grenade. The shock wave tossed Clint against a tree, and he heard his ribs crack. The pain swamped over him, but he could still breathe. Kind of. He wasn't coughing up blood, and it felt like all he'd done was break and bruise his ribs. Natasha took out their pursuers, and they limped aboard the Quinjet to be whisked back to the Helicarrier.

Like he'd suspected, he'd simply cracked two ribs on his left side. It meant he wouldn't be pulling back on his bowstring anytime soon, and the enforced time off would give him the chance to travel to Amarillo. As he sat in the Helicarrier's medical bay and gave his report to Fury, his mind moved ahead to his plans. He needed sleep, badly, and he knew he'd likely be out of commission for the next twenty-four hours. By the time he went home, slept, typed up his report, and planned his trip, he would be ready for more sleep. His decision wasn't whether to go to Amarillo or not. He just wasn't certain of the timing. After a short nap while waiting for his release, he decided to go as planned and see just how Courtney responded.

The doctors wouldn't allow Clint to fly himself and Natasha back to New York. His ribs were incredibly painful, and she'd done a number on her feet by escaping barefoot. But they were alive, and their injuries would heal. Back at Stark Tower, Rogers met them on the roof, and both men gave Natasha a hand back into the tower. Her feet were painful enough that walking was troublesome, and she retreated to her apartment to heal and rest. Clint thanked Rogers for being there and also hid away from the world.

The mission had been a four-day trip, and sleeping off the effects took up another day. By the time Clint left New York, he was right on schedule for his visit but still in a great deal of pain. Stark allowed all the Avengers to use the jet, so Clint had already arranged for it to be waiting. This time, instead of hanging out in the cockpit with the pilot, he settled in one of the comfortable seats and closed his eyes. Before he knew it, they'd arrived in Amarillo.

The sun was setting, and the temperature hotter than he'd anticipated. He wore a jacket most of the time to hide the weapons he kept on him, but he knew he wouldn't be hiding them from Courtney. Not this time. They'd grown close enough that she needed to know exactly what he did and what kind of man he was.

Most of the time when he arrived in Amarillo, he drove to the bank and met her after work. But he'd called before he left New York and arranged to meet at her place this time. He needed the extra time to prepare himself. As he found her apartment building and climbed on the elevator instead of taking the stairs, he forced himself to breathe. Tonight, he'd tell her about his life, Loki, his part in recent events, and exactly what SHIELD asked of him. If she wanted to push him out of her life, he'd let her. But it would hurt worse than the cracked ribs he currently had. He was already on the way to loving her, and telling her what he was and what he did was the ultimate sign of trust in his mind.

Then, he rolled his eyes. He wasn't known for deep introspection or angst, so having it crop up now really surprised him. He didn't have time to think much on it, however, because he arrived at her door. Lifting his hand to knock, Clint rocked back on his heels and simply waited.

oOo

Meeting Clint at her home sent Courtney into a tizzy. She rushed home from work and frantically ran through the apartment. Not that it needed much. She spent such little time there lately that she hadn't made a mess. The few dishes went into the dishwasher, she quickly cleaned the bathroom and closed the shower curtain so he couldn't see the pitiful tub, tossed all of her dirty clothes into her bedroom and shut the door, and in general tried to make the place as welcoming and nice as possible.

He knocked before she was ready. Tugging the cowl-necked black sweater tunic into place over her jeans, she hurried to answer it. Her hair still needed to be put up, and she hadn't had time to slip into her heeled boots. But she wouldn't leave Clint waiting in the hall.

He looked up when she opened the door, and Courtney's heart dropped. He stood awkwardly, one hand on his chest as if in pain, and his face had several cuts and accompanying bruises. She took a step back and motioned him inside. "What happened?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mission went sideways," he said shortly. She didn't take offense to the curtness of his tone as she realized he was moving slowly and very carefully.

"Why didn't you stay home and rest, then?"

He stared at her. "Because coming here _is_ relaxing."

A warm glow spread through Courtney at his words. She smiled at him, unable to stop the reaction. "How bad is it?"

"Just a couple of cracked ribs. Nothing I've not had before." Clint brushed off his injuries, but she just stared at him. Cracked ribs were a big deal in her world. He had been looking around her apartment but glanced over to find her staring at him. Moving to her, he put both hands on her shoulders. "I'm fine. Really. I wanted to come see you, and the doctors are just glad I'm taking a few days off this time."

"This time?"

He shrugged again, this time sheepishly. "It's not the first time I've cracked my ribs."

Courtney wanted to laugh at the boyish expression on his face, but she held in her laughter. "Then why don't we stay here tonight?" She slipped out from under his hands and walked into the kitchen, quickly looking through her fridge. "It'll take a while, but I can make some lasagna, and you can sit on the couch, which should be a bit more comfortable than a booth at the restaurant."

Clint gave her a grateful nod. "That sounds great."

With their plans changed, she decided she wouldn't worry about getting dressed any more than she already was. Clint looked exhausted, and the way he eased into a barstool told her that he'd pushed himself to fly all the way here. She rushed into the bathroom for a hair tie, quickly twisting her hair up into a messy bun. He turned to watch her, his gaze moving appreciatively over her form, and she resisted the urge to curl her toes into the tile when he grinned slightly at her bare feet. Instead, she poured him a glass of iced tea and stuck the ground beef into the microwave to thaw.

While she worked, she and Clint chatted about their separate months. He kept looking around her apartment curiously, and she tried to see things the way he might. The apartment was small, the main room supposed to house a dining table along with her living room furniture. But she liked thick, blocky furniture, and that left little room for the dining table she had in storage. Instead, she'd bought barstools with backs on them and often sat at the breakfast bar to eat. Her couch faced the opposite direction, the whole room comfortable and filled with various photographs of different cities sparkling after sundown. A big screen TV covered one wall, and she had a decent-sized bedroom and bathroom at the end of a small hallway. While not the largest apartment, it served her purposes. And the walls were thick enough she rarely heard the neighbors' nighttime activities.

Clint leaned his elbows on the counter as she slid the lasagna into the oven to bake. Cooking for him felt surprisingly good and very intimate, though she had no illusions about their relationship. She cared for Clint—a lot—but they didn't get to spend enough time together in person to know if their friendship could progress into something more. She wanted it to, but she couldn't know what he thought. Instead of wasting her time worrying about that, she poured her own glass of tea and leaned a hip against the counter as she told him about Marcy's new baby. Her friend had gone into labor at work, and there had been quite the to-do getting her to the hospital. Marcy and her husband had made Courtney the baby's Godmother, so she'd been spending a lot of time with them. Clint smiled as she told about the little girl that had utterly charmed her, and Courtney found she loved that smile. It was exhausted and sweet and utterly vulnerable.

Finally, halfway through the lasagna's time in the oven, Clint changed the subject. He met her eyes, his face clearing and becoming inscrutable. "There's something I wanted to talk to you about, and I'm not. . . ." He took a deep breath and then winced when it irritated his ribs. "There's things about me that you don't know, Courtney, and I want you to know them."

Sensing that he needed to get this out, she nodded encouragingly and waited.

He laced his fingers together, staring at his hands as he did so. "How much do you know about what happened last year in Manhattan? The alien attacks?"

She shrugged, leaning against the counter so that they were on the same eye level. "What was in the news. What little you've told me."

He nodded once, chuckling mirthlessly. "SHIELD managed to suppress a lot of stuff, especially about my involvement in that."

"Your involvement?"

"I'm not a good man, Courtney." He looked at her then, the shadows in his eyes deeper than she'd seen before. He suddenly looked older than thirty-six. "A few days before that attack, I was at a base in New Mexico, watching over this blue cube. Some guy came through a portal from the other end of space, and, before I knew it, I was working for him."

"What do you mean?"

"He had a spear. When he touched my chest with it. . . ." Clint shook his head. "I've tried describing it to the psychologists and Natasha, but I still can't explain it. Ever been in jail?" When she said she hadn't, he sighed. "I have. You can see into the hallway, but you can't get there. If one of your buddies gets in trouble out there, you can't get to him to help. That's what it was like. I could see and hear myself doing things, but I had no control. Something _else_ was controlling me."

"Like being in a car with someone else driving and you have no idea where you're going and they do?"

"Something like that." He rubbed his face. "This was different, though. I couldn't resist, jump out of the car, or anything. And there was. . .pain. Loki—the guy who came through the portal—got off on our pain. He randomly put us through our worst nightmares just to watch us squirm. Then, he'd use those nightmares against us."

"How'd you get out?" Courtney asked quietly. Clint's face might have shut down, but his eyes told a different story. He wanted her to understand what he'd been through. He was almost desperate that she understand.

Now, a slight smile touched his lips. "Cognitive recalibration."

"Excuse me?"

"Natasha hit me really hard on the head." He actually smirked at that. "That's how she termed it."

"So you just had to be knocked out to get back to being. . .you?"

"Apparently, though there was a bit more involved. It was almost like detoxing." He drew in a deep breath, winced, and let it out. "After that, everything broke loose in New York. But SHIELD kept my involvement out of the news for obvious reasons. I've been seeing a shrink for ten months, and it's helped a lot. I still have nightmares, but not as often." He quirked a smile. "Talking with you helps, too."

Courtney reached across the counter to take his hand, feeling the callouses from using his bow as he wrapped his fingers around hers. He'd told her some doozies in the time they'd known each other, but she knew he wasn't lying or embellishing this time. The expression in his eyes was too vulnerable and almost childlike in his need for her to understand. Unfortunately, she didn't know what to say.

Clint apparently didn't need her to say anything. He stared at their hands. "There's a lot about me that you don't know." He looked up at her. "Everything I've told you about me is true. _Everything_. I did lose my parents when I was six, lived in an orphanage, joined a circus. There's a lot of details and a lot of crap that happened in my life, but I've never lied to you."

Courtney decided to focus on something light for the moment. "So you really do know how to use a trapeze?"

His answering grin told her that she'd chosen the correct response. "I know _lots_ of tricks on a trapeze. You'll have to come to New York sometime."

She rolled her eyes as the time for the oven dinged. "Show off."

"Yep, and proud of it!" Just like that, Clint went back to the same man she'd known for months. But there was a deeper appreciation in his eyes. She served the lasagna, refilled their tea, and settled next to him. He faced her, propping his left elbow on the counter as he ate. It put his back to the door, but he didn't seem to notice. "Ask me anything," he challenged her. His voice took on that serious tone again, the one that told her he'd tell her the truth even if it was painful.

"How'd you crack your ribs? This time."

He smirked at her clarification. "Idiot threw a grenade, and I was tossed into a tree."

"And here I was hoping you'd fallen off the trapeze."

"No, that's how I broke my leg for the first time." The comeback was so immediate she blinked before she laughed. He chuckled with her, wincing when it jarred his ribs. "Don't make me laugh."

"You're the one that tossed out the joke."

"No jokes." He held up a finger. "Maybe said in a fun way, but no jokes. Not tonight."

She narrowed her eyes, deciding to try something a little more important. "What do you really do for SHIELD?" When he blinked, she shrugged. "You've told me you're basically a spy, but there's more to it than that. I saw the news footage of you, remember?"

He nodded once, a trait she'd noticed in their time together. It usually meant he'd either accepted something he didn't like to hear or that he needed a few moments to think. He set down his fork and met her eyes. "Remember when I told you that there were parts of my job that were pretty dark?" He waited while she nodded. "I'm a sniper, Courtney. That's why I'm usually Natasha's back-up. I don't just act as her handler in the field. I'm the contingency plan in case something goes wrong."

"How often do they go wrong?"

His eyes drifted away from hers. "More often than I'd like." He shook his head slightly, lost in thought. She let him think for a few minutes, trying to realign her mental idea of who Clint was with the man beside her. She had accepted the fact that he went on "missions," that he worked with the Avengers, and that he had to kill in the line of duty. But to hear he was a _sniper_. . .? That put a whole new spin on things.

They continued talking as they ate, and he insisted on helping her clean up the kitchen. As they worked, she wondered why she felt so comfortable with him. When she'd imagined the man she would finally love, she'd always thought he would be a businessman or a cop, someone with a good life and a job that, while slightly dangerous, wasn't all that life threatening. Instead, she found Clint, a man with more secrets than anyone she'd known, a propensity for making her laugh, and a vulnerability about his past that tugged at her heart. And he revealed a lot of those secrets over lasagna and iced tea, falling silent as they loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters.

But he'd revealed some real humdingers. They moved to the couch, where Clint gratefully sank into the cushions while she chose a movie to watch. She carefully settled next to him and leaned against his shoulder while the movie played. Less than halfway through, he fell asleep on the couch. Given what he'd told her about his past, that shocked her. He was either too tired to care or trusted her that completely. Either way, she had a lot to think about and needed to get everything worked out in her head.

Could she really continue in a relationship of any kind with a man who routinely killed for a living? Carefully slipping off the couch while he slept, Courtney stood at her window and stared into the night. Clint had gone out of his way to tell her that part of his job included death, that he and Natasha—the Black Widow—weren't just a pair of spies, that he'd nearly been killed before he was sixteen, and that he'd been captured multiple times by bad guys or good guys or people wanting their revenge. But he'd also shared how he kept Natasha alive when he'd been ordered to kill her, how he'd guided the Avengers in battle as their eyes up high, and how he wanted to repay his debt for every life he'd taken unjustly in the past. Men didn't turn into cold-blooded killers on their own, not men like Clint. He balanced the darkness in his life with the silliness she'd seen from him since their first evening together. And she suddenly understood where that came from.

He shifted in his sleep, and she turned to watch as he slowly woke. Could she really end their relationship, whatever it might be? Marcy called him her "boyfriend" just to get a rise out of her, but she found herself wishing that was the case. Clint wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for her. They suited one another well, and he understood her need to laugh at things rather than get upset about them. He got why she picked off-the-wall topics rather than the heart of the matter. Sometimes, the heart of the matter was ugly. He'd revealed a bit of ugliness to her tonight. The level of trust that took made it hard to breathe all of a sudden. And it showed her that she needed to return the trust. The only way she knew that was to continue trusting that he wouldn't harm her and would do what he had been for the time she had known him.

He blinked himself awake, seeing the credits rolling on the TV screen, and then looked at her. "Sorry," he said softly, and she suddenly had a hard time breathing for a totally different reason. She was grateful she hadn't called him while he was asleep before, or it might have left her tongue-tied and embarrassed.

"No problem." Courtney waited while he slowly pushed himself into a more upright position and ran a hand over his face. His hair stood on end, and he eventually got to his feet.

"I should probably head to the hotel." He joined her at the window, the same uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at her.

She shrugged. "I'd let you stay here, but I only have one bedroom." All at once, she realized how that sounded. Her face heated quickly as he laughed.

Then, he groaned. "I told you not to make me laugh."

"Too bad!" She smirked before sobering. "What are your plans for the weekend?"

"Depends." He met her eyes. "What do you want?"

She knew what he was asking. He wasn't asking so much what she wanted to do as much as he needed to know if he was still welcome. "Well, you're not up to baseball with Jeremiah tomorrow, but there's this. . .museum. . .kind of. It's a discovery center, and Jeremiah loves going there."

He narrowed his eyes. "Discovery center? Like a science museum that kids can play in?"

"You should feel right at home," she replied while patting his arm. He snorted at her as she continued, "Seriously, it's a lot of fun. Jeremiah's class went there a few months ago, and he came home talking about things that I'd love to see. And Josiah, even if he is twelve, would probably enjoy it as well."

Clint nodded. "Sounds like a plan." He held up a finger. "Then I _am_ taking you out to dinner tomorrow."

Courtney smiled at him. "Okay."

He left a few minutes later, and she stood in her doorway until he disappeared behind the elevator doors. His visit had done wonders for their friendship. There was a depth now that couldn't be undone, and she didn't want it to be undone. Clint had trusted her enough to tell her some of his deepest secrets. She wondered when she'd have the ability to do the same and then realized that, if he'd dealt with his own life, he'd be able to handle hers as well.

oOo

Saturday with Jeremiah and Josiah turned out to be one of the best days in Clint's recent life. He picked Courtney up at her place and then waited in the truck while she gathered up her nephews. Jeremiah had looked worried while Courtney explained that Clint had hurt his ribs. But he'd whooped with joy when he saw the discovery center. Clint happily paid the entrance fee—much to Courtney's consternation—and then spent the day letting the two boys drag him around. By the time dinner came along, he was thoroughly exhausted and completely happy. Throughout the day, he'd seen Courtney watching him with a small smile on her face, and he suddenly wanted to know what put that there. When he saw it, he'd waggle his eyebrows at her or make a face, and she'd usually laugh and blush. And that blush only made him want to see it more often.

Returning to New York after the weekend was tougher than most times. Clint arrived at his apartment and carefully took a hot shower. He'd overdone with Jeremiah and Josiah, but it was worth it to hear Courtney laugh and see the way she smiled when Jeremiah found a new display. The interactivity of the place appealed to the child inside of him, and he'd found himself laughing during one demonstration about dry ice done by a guy in a white lab coat and the stereotypical "mad scientist" hair.

Two more months passed, and his ribs healed nicely. He returned to the field four weeks after his injury, no worse for the wear. He and Courtney talked two to three times a week, and they texted often. Sometimes, she sent one-liners she saw on signs or on bumper stickers, other times she emailed longer stories. Always to make him laugh, and sometimes to make him think. One email included a picture of her holding her Goddaughter, and that one definitely gave Clint plenty of reason to pause. She looked so happy, though her email said she loved spoiling the baby and sending her home to Mom and Dad. Still, he suddenly wondered if he and Courtney would one day have that sort of relationship. More surprisingly, he _wanted_ that sort of relationship with her. She wasn't SHIELD or any kind of law enforcement, and his own life sometimes gave her reason to pause. But she always coped with what he told her and, even if she showed revulsion for some of the things he'd done, she never judged him. He couldn't know what went on in her mind, but he loved that she didn't just shut him out.

They also had their disagreements. The first time it happened, Clint had been torn between wanting to strangle her and wondering just how he could put that same fire back in her eyes. They'd argued over something he'd said to Jeremiah, and he hadn't understood quite what he'd done wrong. When she calmed down enough to explain, he felt horrible for crossing the line, and he made certain to speak with Jeremiah's mother about the incident. Courtney's sister was understanding, particularly when Clint explained that he hadn't been around children all that much, and Courtney forgave him. He had taken her out to a very nice dinner that night, and they wound up walking hand in hand through one of Amarillo's parks while he realized that he was very close to doing the one thing both he and Natasha dreaded. He was falling in love.

A week shy of the one-year anniversary of the Chitauri attack, Clint hosted the Avengers at his apartment for their weekly gathering. Most of the time, they all went to Stark's penthouse, but one or the other of them occasionally changed up the routine. In the time that Clint had been getting to know Courtney, Rogers had finally asked Natasha out on a date. Natasha had shocked everyone when she agreed, and the smile she wore when Rogers arrived at Clint's place told Clint that things had gone very well.

Stark also picked up on the byplay and grinned. "Steve and Tasha sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N. . . ." His childish song trailed off when Natasha flipped the knife she'd been using to cut up some onion around in a defensive manner and glared at him. Clint nearly snorted his iced tea at the sheer terror that crossed the billionaire's face. Natasha wouldn't harm Stark—much—but Stark didn't know that.

Then, Stark turned to Clint. "So, what's up with you and your cowgirl?"

"She's not a cowgirl."

"She's from Texas." Stark shrugged as if it were the most obvious thing.

"Not everyone from Texas is a cowgirl or cowboy," Clint pointed out. "Her name's Courtney, and she's fine."

"That's it? Just fine?" Stark rolled his eyes. "What? Is that assassin-speak for, 'I'm head over heels about her?'" When Clint's head snapped up and he sent his own glare toward Stark, the billionaire raised his hands. "Okay, I'll drop it!"

Behind Stark, Pepper buried her smile behind a cup of coffee.

The evening continued in the same vein, with Stark trying to get a rise out of everyone. Thor had gone to see Jane, but the rest of them were fair game for the cocky billionaire. Clint loved every minute of it as he and Natasha fixed dinner and chatted with Steve. As he finished rinsing some dishes for the dishwasher, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Only one person texted him when he was with the other Avengers, and he dried his hands, preparing to explain why he was laughing at something Courtney said.

Instead, he went still when he saw her question. _Can I call?_

Something was wrong. Courtney didn't ask to call him. Not when she knew he was in a meeting or with the Avengers. She respected his time with his team, and that only made him want to invite her into the circle. No, this text meant something had happened, and he felt a rock settle into his pocket.

Natasha caught the change in his demeanor. "What is it?"

Clint shook his head. "I gotta make a call." He left the rest of the Avengers staring at him and slipped onto his small balcony. Dialing from memory, he waited until Courtney picked up.

"_Clint?_"

He frowned at the shakiness of her voice. "It's me. What happened?"

"_Oh, God!_" She sounded close to coming apart at the seams. "_Clint, I know you're with the others, and I'm sorry. But I just. . .I needed. . .I'm really sorry!_"

"Hey, slow down." He gripped the railing on the balcony with his free hand as he glared at the street below him. Courtney didn't panic, not like this. "Just take a deep breath." He waited while she did so. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

"_A guy came into the bank today,_" she said with another breath that sounded kind of like a sob. "_Marcy was shot!_"

The rock that had settled into his stomach turned into a low flame of rage, and Clint knew right then that he'd gone and done what he said he'd never do. "Where are you?"

"_I'm at the hospital. I'm fine,_" she rushed to explain. "_But Marcy's in surgery. Oh, God, Clint! If she doesn't make it. . . ._"

"Just hang in there." He turned and saw the rest of the Avengers watching him through the door. "I'm on my way. Okay?"

"_Yeah._"

He ended the call a moment later and stepped inside. A quick word of explanation was all the team needed, and Stark met his eyes. "Pack your bag, Legolas," the billionaire said seriously. "I'll have the plane fueled and waiting."

In that moment, Clint made a mental note to never doubt Stark's feelings for the team. He did as the billionaire suggested and, within the hour, found himself pacing the plane as he waited impatiently to get to the woman he loved.

~TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Wow! Thanks for all the reviews, everyone! Due to comments in those reviews (which have all been awesome), these later chapters are undergoing a bit of a rewrite. So posting might or might not happen on time. Like anyone's worried with the story getting _longer_. There's a poll on my profile concerning it, or just leave your opinion in a review!

**Chels:** So glad you're enjoying the story!

**Casey:** Thanks! Until the story's finished, updates will be daily. . .I think.

**Cara:** I like my cliffies. :D Sorry to leave you hanging like that. Hope this chapter makes up for it.

**assantra:** I was going for more of a friendship-turned-romance thing. While some people just naturally fall in bed together, these two couldn't. Not with Clint's job and the radical difference between their lives. Which will be causing more complications. I promise. :)

As always, hope you enjoy this chapter! ~lg

oOo

At the hospital in Amarillo, Clint was directed to a waiting room near the ICU. He hurried down the hall, ignoring anyone who got in his way, and found Courtney pacing inside. Her hair was down, falling around her face in drying waves, and she wore a set of blue scrubs. As soon as he cleared the door, she walked directly into his arms and buried her face in the curve of his neck. Clint wrapped his arms around her, feeling the shaking in her body, as she cried. Several others in the waiting room watched sympathetically, and a man in the corner held a baby wrapped in pink blankets. The other people were disheveled, and all of them wore strained expressions. Clint recognized most of them as tellers and loan officers from the bank. He also saw the empty, shocked looks in their eyes and knew this wouldn't be an easy transition for anyone.

When Courtney finally pulled away, he kept his arms on her elbows. "Wanna take a walk?"

She nodded. Clint led her out of the room, keeping one hand around her as he steered her toward an empty waiting room. There was a coffee pot in the corner with filters and generic coffee, and he started a pot while Courtney ran a hand through her hair. Once the coffee began brewing, he tugged on her hand until she settled next to him. "Tell me."

She drew her feet into the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs. "It was awful." She couldn't seem to stop the tears. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Clint braced his elbows on his knees. "Take your time, but I need to know what happened."

She nodded and, over the next few minutes, told him about the robbery. A man not much more than twenty years old had charged into the bank near closing time, waving a gun and yelling for everyone to get down. He'd fired several rounds into the ceiling, pointing the gun in Marcy's face and ordering her to get the money. She had moved quickly, having been trained to just do what a robber wanted. Courtney had watched from near her desk while her best friend filled the bag the robber shoved at her with cash from the various drawers.

That's when things went terribly wrong. Someone from upstairs charged into the area, and the robber started shooting. Two people had been killed—higher-ups in the bank—and Marcy had been shot. The police had already started arriving at the scene, and the young robber made a run for the door. He'd been killed on the threshold, and Courtney had hurried to Marcy's side. The paramedics barely arrived in time to get her to the hospital, but Courtney had stayed with her friend. Her clothes had been destroyed by the blood from Marcy's collapsed lung, and the hospital had given her a chance to shower and clean up while waiting for her friend to come out of surgery. That had been hours ago. Now, Marcy was back in surgery due to complications from her injury.

By the time Courtney finished telling the story, the coffee had finished brewing. Clint had made a full pot, intending to carry it back to the other bank employees and get them to drink something hot. He knew from personal experience that eating was not on their priority list. But they needed some sort of energy to get through this. Before that, though, he needed to make sure Courtney was steady enough on her feet to get through the rest of the night. After that, he'd hold her while she came apart.

She slowly turned to him. "What if she dies, Clint?"

The question broke his heart. He pulled her back into his arms and simply held her while she leaned her head on his shoulder. She'd entered the shock phase of trauma, not knowing how to cope with the violence around her. "She won't," he said quickly. "We'll make sure she doesn't. Even if the docs here can't help her, we'll do what we have to do."

Courtney nodded against his shoulder. The trust she had in him was astounding. She knew most of his darkest secrets, yet she believed him when he made a promise he might not be able to keep. It alternately warmed his heart and worried him. What if, when confronted by the _reality_ of his life, she couldn't cope?

Glancing down, he saw a touch of color coming back to her face. "Think you're ready to go back?"

"Yeah." She straightened and frowned. "You made coffee?"

"For you and everyone else." Clint met her eyes. "You need to drink some. Right now, you don't want to eat, and that's normal. But you—_all_ of you—need to keep up your strength for Marcy and her family."

She nodded again and accepted the Styrofoam cup he pushed into her hands. After adding a packet of creamer and sugar, she blew on the hot drink while he carefully balanced the coffee pot, cups, and packets. A nurse saw him and, after a quick explanation, helped him carry the things into the ICU waiting room. She even took the matching, empty carafe back to the other waiting room and said she'd clean up that coffee pot for him. Clint doled out cups of coffee, urging everyone to take them and keeping a close eye on Courtney. She sat next to Marcy's husband—an insurance agent named Ben—and quietly explained that Clint was law enforcement. That seemed to reassure everyone there, and she didn't blush when Ben thanked her for asking her boyfriend to come out. Clint watched, knowing that this group had needed someone to take over and just let them react to the situation.

It was nearing three in the morning when an exhausted doctor appeared to tell them all that Marcy had come through surgery. By then, Marcy's mother had arrived, and Courtney held Marcy's daughter while Ben and his mother-in-law went to see her. Clint sipped another cup of coffee and thought as he watched the other bank personnel filed out of the waiting room.

All it had taken was one text from Courtney for him to know something was wrong. When had that happened? When had he become so in tune with her that he knew she was in trouble across the country? He couldn't answer those questions, but he was glad to be the one who felt that way.

Courtney introduced him to little Brianna before Ben returned to take care of his daughter. He thanked both of them for staying, and Clint pulled Courtney to her feet. A quick promise to come back to the hospital after she'd gotten some rest convinced her to go home, and Clint drove carefully before looking at her for her apartment key.

She blinked at him when he explained what he needed. "It's in my purse. At the bank."

At any other time, he would have produced a set of lock picks with a flourish and teased her about his "skill set." This morning, he seriously asked her if he could pick the lock and promised to replace it if he damaged it. She agreed with a nod and headed straight for her bedroom a few moments later. Clint let her have her space while she changed from the blue scrubs and brushed her now dry hair. He peeked into her room as she finished, admiring the way her hair fell in waves past her waist, and meeting her eyes in the mirror. "You need to rest."

She nodded. "I know." Turning to face him, she again walked into his arms. "Will you stay?" Her question was muffled against his neck.

Clint chuckled. "On the couch." He ran a hand through her hair and tipped her face up to meet her eyes. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Courtney let him go, and Clint tucked her into bed. He brushed her hair back from her face and, on impulse, bent to kiss her forehead. She drifted to sleep right away, a testament to the toll the adrenaline and fear had taken on her body.

Wandering back into the living room, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Natasha. She answered immediately and, after getting a report on what had happened, promised to let Fury know he was in Amarillo indefinitely. Clint thanked her and dropped onto Courtney's couch, the reality of what had happened finally settling in.

Courtney had always been so innocent. It was one reason he'd been able to fall for her. She had a quality about her that he missed in his life, and it had helped him heal in a way that even his close friendship with the Avengers couldn't. Burying Coulson had broken him, wounding him deeper than even his imprisonment by Loki. Coulson had been the only person in his life to look past all he'd done and still see the good in him. Until he met Courtney, he hadn't had that anymore. Natasha believed in him and cared in her own way, but she also had a dark past. Courtney trusted him beyond just taking her out to dinner. Tonight proved that. She trusted him to hold her together when she fell apart, and there was something incredibly special about it. She had healed up a part of him that had been bleeding since Coulson's funeral and, though his relationship with her was _way_ different from the brotherhood he'd shared with Phil, he loved her for it.

He drifted to sleep with those thoughts running through his mind and woke a few hours later, somewhat refreshed. He'd been trained to operate on a few hours of rest. A quick check on Courtney proved she was still sleeping peacefully, so he carried his bag up from the truck and cleaned up for the day. Then, he started breakfast. She might not want to eat, but he intended to see that she did. He'd get her through this and make sure that she was able to laugh once again.

oOo

The smell of coffee and bacon woke Courtney, and she blinked in confusion at her clock. It was almost eleven in the morning, and her head pounded as if she'd spent hours crying. Her memory replayed the last twenty-four hours, and she sat up quickly. How was Marcy? Was Ben coping okay? All the questions and what-ifs flickered into her mind in technicolor, and she wasn't able to stop the vivid memories of Marcy's blood on her clothes and her friend's pale, dilated eyes. She drew her knees to her chest and buried her face in the covers to cover the tears, hoping Clint wouldn't hear them. She'd cried enough on his shoulder.

Pulling herself together, she pushed back the covers and dressed in comfortable jeans and a t-shirt. A quick brush through her hair later, she decided she was presentable. Padding to the bathroom, she ran a brush over her teeth and then found Clint in the kitchen, making hash browns.

He looked incredible. Wearing a pair of jeans that fit him perfectly, hiking boots, and a black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, he stood at her stove and glanced up when she paused in the middle of the living room. His smile lit up his face immediately, and he set the wooden spatula he'd been using to the side. "Hey, you were supposed to stay asleep for a while yet."

Courtney motioned to the food. "I was hungry."

"Good." He nodded as if agreeing with her and poured her a cup of coffee. Sugar and creamer materialized next to her hand, and he went back to stirring the hash browns. Within minutes, a plate with eggs, bacon, toast, and the shredded potatoes also appeared, and then he joined her. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "I don't know." She decided to be brutally honest. He had done the same with her, and she wanted to return the favor. "Is this the kind of thing you do?"

"Go into banks and rob the place? No." The way he said it made her smile slightly. She loved that about Clint. He had a way of lightening the hardest subjects while still making certain they were given the proper weight. "Go into situations where someone's shot up the place? A lot. And most of the times, _I'm_ the one who shot up everything. Or Natasha."

"How do you cope?"

"Time." He reached over and nudged her chin up with one finger. "I wish it was a better answer, but that's all I've got. You cope with time and by letting yourself feel what you're gonna feel without burying it."

"Is that what you did? With Loki?"

"Not at first."

"Oh."

He took her hand. "You're doing great."

"Doesn't feel like it."

"It never does."

They ate in silence, Courtney only finishing half of her food before her appetite fled. She had so many thoughts running through her mind, but one took precedence. "Can we go back to the hospital today?"

"Sure." Clint set about cleaning up the kitchen. "Why don't you get ready while I take care of this?"

Thankful that he was there to keep her on track, Courtney wandered back to her bedroom. She felt like she was in a daze, like she couldn't think all that clearly. She needed to see Marcy, to know her friend would be okay. She needed to go back to the bank and get her purse and personal effects. She needed to. . . .She sat on the edge of her bed as she realized she didn't have a clue what she needed.

By the time she and Clint arrived at the hospital, the story of the shooting had been played and replayed on the news so many times it had become a local sensation. Clint held her hand while they walked through the reporters and into the hospital and then waited while she visited her friend. Marcy was in a medically induced coma while her lungs healed, but her prognosis was good. Ben looked tired but better, and the doctors assured Courtney that Marcy had a better than seventy-five percent chance to pull through. They'd know more within twenty-four hours.

As she left the hospital, Clint's phone rang. He explained that he'd given his number to the detective that came by the hospital the night before—something Courtney didn't remember—and answered the call. A few minutes later, he met her eyes. "The police released the crime scene, but the bank's going to be closed the rest of the week. You can go back and get your things if you want."

Courtney stared at him. At first, she felt relief that she could get her purse. Then, she panicked. "I. . .I don't know if I can."

Clint nodded. "You need to try." He shrugged. "I'll be there the whole time, and, if you can't, you can tell me where your things are."

She agreed with a nod and chewed on her lower lip the whole way to the bank. The police were still there, taking down the crime scene tape. The blood had already been cleaned from the door where the robber had been killed, but Courtney still saw the ambulances and heard the sirens from the previous day. She sat in the truck after Clint parked and stared at the front door. She could do this. She _needed_ to do this. The quicker she did this, the easier it would be when the bank opened back up. But the nausea in her gut didn't go away with her internal pep talk.

Determinedly pushing the door open after several long minutes, she climbed out of Clint's truck and started walking toward the door. Her mind replayed the events from the previous day, and she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. Clint walked with her, his hand in hers as she gripped so hard she worried about hurting him. The closer they got to the door, the greater her panic became. She finally shook her head. "I can't. I just. . . ." Turning on her heel, she rushed back toward the truck, finally giving in to the nausea and bending at the waist as she purged her system. Clint was there with her, and he handed her a bottle of water from one of the cleaning guys who passed. After she rinsed her mouth, he tucked her back in the truck. "Where's everything?"

"My desk, bottom right drawer." She stared at him with tears in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay." He picked up her hand and actually kissed it. "You're doing good to even be here today."

Courtney nodded and watched him walk away. She was grateful he'd come. If he hadn't been here to get her through this, she didn't know what she would have done. All at once, she smiled slightly. If it wasn't for Jeremiah's "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" letter, Clint _wouldn't_ be there. She really owed her nephew for that one.

For the rest of the day, Clint kept watch over her while she struggled to think about anything except the events surrounding the bank. He tucked her into bed that night before taking a shower, and she'd drifted to sleep with _very_ pleasant thoughts in her mind. Unfortunately, those thoughts didn't keep the memories at bay, and she woke up to Clint sitting on the edge of her bed. Her throat hurt from the nightmare, and he held her and called her "sweetheart" while she cried again.

Marcy woke up two days after the event, in pain and very grateful to be alive. She was breathing on her own, and her prognosis had improved drastically. Every day, Courtney went to the hospital to visit her friend, hold her Goddaughter, and let Ben get a few moments away. He and Clint hit it off, and the two of them usually shared a cup of coffee. After visiting the hospital, Courtney insisted on trying to go back to the bank. Since it was the first time anything like this had happened at this particular branch, the bank had made psychologists available to their people and had encouraged the tellers and loan officers to return to the building. Courtney made it as far as the door before she froze up, and she started to wonder if she'd ever go back.

After the fourth failed attempt, she cried in frustration all the way back to her apartment. Clint didn't say anything, knowing that assuring her that everything was okay would be the wrong move. He supported her every step of the way, but keeping him here wasn't right. He had responsibilities back in New York, and the anniversary of the attacks on Manhattan was three days away. The news had already reported that the Avengers planned to make an appearance.

Back at her apartment, she pulled herself together. "You don't have to stay," she said softly.

He tensed as he frowned at her. "Why do you say that?"

She motioned vaguely to the television. "I know you've got things going on in New York, and the world doesn't stop for me. I won't fall apart if you go back because you have responsibilities. I understand that."

Clint set down the pan he'd pulled from the cabinet to make their dinner and rounded the breakfast bar. He tugged her off of her bar stool and plopped her down on the couch. "Let's get one thing straight. I'm here because I _want_ to be here. I know what it's like to not have anyone around and go through something like this. I was fifteen when my brother left me to die. So if anyone's going anywhere, it's you."

Courtney blinked at that. "Me?"

He quirked a grin. "If you're concerned about me having responsibilities back in New York, you can come back with me."

She opened her mouth to protest, but the hopeful expression in his eyes stopped her. Instead, she asked, "What do you think I should do?"

"What do you _need_?"

She tried to think through that. She really did need him with her right then. He was the only reason she wasn't falling apart at the seams, and having him nearby at night helped with the nightmares. But she was feeling stifled as well. She wanted space, but not to be left alone. Her sister and nephews tried to help, but they didn't understand. Not like Clint did. He seemed to know just what she needed at every stage in the process and naturally fell into that role.

Finally, she nodded. "I need space," she said simply.

"I can offer a luxury apartment in Stark Tower and walks through Central Park." He shrugged. "You don't have to go through this alone, Courtney. And you don't have to feel pressured to go back to work right away."

She knew that. The bank officials had already said they'd hold jobs for those who wanted to return but needed more than the week. Several tellers had already quit, leaving them in a bind, so new people being hired wasn't all that surprising. Still, Courtney felt bad for taking more time off than everyone else.

But New York sounded awesome. She'd never been to the East Coast, and she did want to meet the other Avengers. Just not like this. She'd entertained fantasies about being introduced gracefully and accepted immediately. She wasn't certain she could take pity and a traumatized arrival. "They won't think I'm pathetic?"

"Who? The Avengers?" Clint snickered. "I'll hurt 'em if they do."

She didn't doubt he would. "New York sounds great."

He nodded. "Then go pack. For a couple weeks. That way, you can stay as long as you want. I'll get the plane ready to go."

Just like that, she left for New York. Her sister understood, and Jeremiah agreed to write to her. She talked with Marcy, and her friend had weakly teased her about taking a vacation with Clint. Courtney wished she could see it that way, but it didn't feel like a vacation. It felt like she was running.

Exhausted from more than the trip, she arrived at Stark Tower late that night. The plane had been wonderful, and she'd managed to rest a bit. Pepper Potts met them in the garage and escorted them up to the promised apartment. She pointed out that Clint's apartment was on the same floor and left the pair of them alone. Courtney caught Pepper's quiet words—that the rest of the team was waiting upstairs—but ignored them as she looked around.

The apartment was the very definition of luxurious. With a wall of windows that looked out on the Chrysler Building, it had a classy elegance that took her breath away. She felt as if she'd walked into a model home, almost afraid to touch anything because she might break it, but she decided she'd enjoy it while she was there. The couches were modern and white with brown throws that matched the flooring, the kitchen large and open. The corner bedroom boasted a king-sized bed that angled in a corner to take advantage of the stunning city skyline.

She had just walked back into the living area when a cultured British voice spoke. "Welcome to Stark Tower, Ms. Bauer."

Courtney jumped and whirled, finding Clint grinning at her. "Who's that?"

"That's JARVIS." He chuckled. "Stark's AI butler. JARVIS, meet Courtney Bauer."

JARVIS spoke again. "A pleasure, Ms. Bauer."

"Uh. . .likewise." She glanced at the ceiling. "No offense, JARVIS, but that's creepy."

"None taken," JARVIS assured her. "I just wanted to let you know that I am able to darken the windows upon your request as well as acquire anything you may need during your stay with us."

"Thanks." She met Clint's eyes. "You could have warned me."

"I know." He smirked. "You should have seen me. I nearly put a knife through the wall."

JARVIS spoke again. "Actually, Agent Barton, you _did_ put a knife through the wall. You nearly put a second one through the same spot."

Clint shrugged as if it were a daily occurrence, and Courtney couldn't help the laugh that escaped. It wasn't as carefree as before, but she did laugh. He held out his hand. "Want to meet everyone else? Or do you want to sleep?"

Not yet ready to face the nightmares, Courtney shrugged. Clint held out his hand to her, and, without thinking, she took it. He pulled her into a hug. "They won't bite," he promised. Leaning back to look her in the eye, he continued, "They've all got their own issues, some of us more than others. They won't think you're pathetic or anything."

She finally nodded and let him lead her out of the room. Not for the first time, she wondered how she'd managed to get so lucky and then wished she could _enjoy_ meeting the Avengers rather than hating the events that brought her to New York.

oOo

Clint watched Courtney the entire time they were in the elevator, seeing the exhaustion she kept in check. He doubted many of the Avengers save for Natasha would know just how tired and stressed she actually was. Still, they wouldn't traumatize her. Much. Stark would have a few comments, and Clint mentally prepared to rebuff him just to give Courtney some room.

The elevator door opened onto the penthouse level, and the group spread over the massive area turned almost as one. Steve and Natasha sat near one another, Nat with a book and Steve looking concerned. Stark was behind the bar with Pepper, the two of them arguing in that way that said Stark would be getting lucky that night. Bruce had a book and cup of coffee, and Pepper smiled when Courtney appeared.

Clint made the introductions, trying to keep the most troublesome members of the team, a.k.a. Stark, back for a few moments. Courtney handled Steve's handshake and Bruce's wave as easily as she did Natasha's distant "Hi." Then, Stark strode over, his eyes dropping to her feet and back up. "You're not wearing the right shoes."

Courtney blinked down at the light sandals she'd worn on the plane. "Sorry?"

"Cowgirls are supposed to wear boots. And spurs. You're not," Stark clarified.

Clint glared at the billionaire, but he needn't have worried. Courtney met Stark's eyes and spoke in a sickly sweet tone. "I only wear my spurs to keep Clint in line. I'll happily lend them to Pepper, though. I'm sure she'd find a good use for them."

Not prepared for the comeback, Stark floundered for a moment before glancing at Clint. "I like her!" Behind the billionaire, Steve had choked on his beer, and Bruce's coffee was coming out of his nose. Stark turned to find Pepper grinning at him and raised his hand. "No spurs. Anything you want, but no spurs."

_That_ earned a bigger laugh from the team and a grin from Courtney, which Clint took as a good sign. He gave her an encouraging smile and squeezed her hand just before Pepper pulled her into a conversation with Steve and Bruce. Stark still eyed her suspiciously, but he thankfully kept his comments to himself.

While Courtney acquainted herself with the others, Natasha moved to Clint's side and nudged his shoulder. "I like her."

Clint nodded. "Yeah, me, too." He glanced at his partner. "Tasha, I more than like her."

"I know." She met his eyes. "What're you going to do about it?"

"I don't know." He studied Courtney across the room. "This really shook her up. She still hasn't been able to go back to the bank, and she's having nightmares."

Natasha put a hand on his arm. "Remember how bad it was after Loki?" When he frowned at her, she shrugged. "Give her time. She'll recover."

Clint knew she was right and decided to let the women have their time. He settled next to Steve and Bruce and spent the evening verbally sparring with Stark, who had nicknamed Courtney "Cowgirl" and wasn't shy about using it. Toward the end of the evening, as Clint and Courtney were leaving for their respective apartments, Stark frowned. "Wait." He turned to Courtney. "Do you really have a pair of spurs? I mean, on you, in the tower? 'Cause, if you do, I need to know before Pepper finds them."

To Clint's utter amusement, Courtney slipped her hand in his and grinned suggestively over her shoulder as the elevator door closed, leaving Stark staring in shock at the two of them. Then, she wilted against the wall. "Is he always a handful like that?"

"Yes." Clint rolled his eyes. "But I think you and Natasha are going to get along famously. And I've never seen coffee come out of anyone's nose before."

She laughed. "I felt bad for Bruce."

"He'll survive." Clint leaned against the elevator wall next to her, pushing their shoulders together. "I'm glad you came."

"Me, too." She smiled up at him as the elevator doors opened, tired but a little more relaxed than she'd been earlier that day. "Can I call you? If I need anything?"

He led her into the hallway. "Always." He hesitated for a moment and then pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Dream well."

"I plan to." She waved and ducked into her apartment, leaving Clint to go home in a pensive mood. He had enjoyed seeing her with his team, knowing she was in the same room even if they weren't side-by-side. And the way Bruce and Steve naturally made room when she did join him at the table, including her in their conversation. . . .It all pointed to what he'd told Natasha. He loved her, and he wanted her in his life for a long time to come.

~TBC

**Author's Note II:** Don't forget to leave me a review or visit my profile for the poll! ~lg


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note:** This starts the rewrite, though this chapter was planned before I put the poll up. I realized that there was a whole chunk of this relationship I skipped over, and it was a little too important to just summarize. According to the poll on my profile, the overwhelming majority would like to see more chapters, less summarizing, and a longer story. With that in mind, I'm already working on the next little bit of the story. The poll will stay open for about 24 more hours to allow those who haven't yet had a chance to vote to vote for your preferred option. A quick note on that: Given that this is a bit of a rewrite, the postings will slow down to, probably, every other day. I have another big story for the Bourne series in the works as well, and that one has reached a pretty critical phase in writing it. This one, while being rewritten, has all the major bones down and the "final chapter" has become something of an outline.

**Cara:** Hope this is more detailed for you. :) And I'm so glad you're enjoying this story. I'm having a blast rewriting it, which is typically not my favorite thing to do.

This chapter is for **Hawaiichick**, who gave me the idea. Enjoy! ~lg_  
_

oOo

The next morning, Courtney slept until well after sunrise, surprised at first when she woke. She stretched in the bed, enjoying the comfort and wondering how she could smuggle it back to Texas when she returned home. Then, she pushed out of the comfortable warmth and climbed into the nicest shower she'd ever seen. She had just finished dressing and had started thinking about coffee when someone knocked on the apartment door. JARVIS announced that Clint had arrived, and Courtney padded across the tile floor to answer the knock. She pasted a tired smile on her face as she opened the door, only to feel it fade when she saw him. "You have a mission."

Clint stood in the hallway, dressed in black cargo pants, a black jacket, and carrying a duffel bag. He gave her a serious look. "I'm sorry, Courtney. I didn't think. . . ." He shook his head. "I had no idea this was going to come in."

She stepped back to let him into the apartment and closed the door after him. "How long will you be gone?"

"Just overnight." He set the bag down and stood across from her, not touching her. "I'm sorry."

She couldn't be certain whether he was apologizing for abandoning her or apologizing for his job. At that moment, she didn't want to think about what he'd be doing. "So, Natasha's going with you?"

He shook his head again. "Just me."

This was it. The moment when she decided whether this relationship could work or not. Back in Texas, she'd listened to him tell her about Loki, about his work for SHIELD, and she'd thought she was okay with it. After all, he had arrived bruised and battered. But he'd been trying to _escape_ during that time. Not taking off to kill someone. That put a whole new spin on the man in front of her. "I'll be here when you get back."

Clint didn't say anything else. He met her eyes and, sensing how she'd closed down, left with a grimace meant to be a smile. Courtney stood in the living area of her luxurious apartment, watching the door close behind him as her heart broke. Her stomach turned, and she suddenly didn't want coffee anymore.

Clint was on his way to _kill_ someone.

How did she cope with that? How did she handle the idea that he'd accepted the job without batting an eye? How could she? She wasn't a murderer, and she _certainly_ didn't condone killing.

Wandering over to the windows, she stood there for a long time as she tried to ignore the tightening sensation in her chest that most called worry. What if Clint was discovered? What if he gave away his position because she'd reacted badly? What if. . . .? The questions continued to roll around in her head, ranging from wondering how he'd react when he came home to wondering if she even wanted to be here when he came back. Through all of it, she kept seeing the bank robbery, and that made her feel even more sick.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. Slipping into the sandals she'd worn the previous day, she decided to explore Stark Tower. The upper floors had been reserved for the Avengers, and JARVIS had kindly given her a map of the facilities. All of the Avengers had their separate apartments, which were respected as their homes. However, there was also a state-of-the-art gym, shooting range, spa, and laboratories. Courtney avoided the labs, not really eager to spend much time talking with Tony Stark. She appreciated his generosity in putting her up as Clint's guest, but she did not have the wit or fortitude to handle his comments today. It was bad enough he'd nicknamed her "Cowgirl." She could cope with that. It was his penchant for trying to start a fight she wanted to avoid.

Figuring she'd at least be able to go for a run on the treadmill, she eventually made her way into the gym. The place was massive. Various weight machines dominated the center of the floor while the cardio machines were on a raised platform to the right. To the left were open mats, obviously intended for sparring, along with punching bags and practice versions of any kind of weapon she could imagine. Natasha Romanoff stood in the middle of one mat, doing something that looked vaguely like tai chi.

Courtney stopped and watched for a moment. Not only had she just remembered she was wearing the wrong shoes, but she couldn't get past the utter tranquility on Natasha's face. The previous evening, the redhead had been distant and reserved, moving to Clint's side and nudging his arm with a warm smile on her face. She spoke to Courtney, but her words had an edge of distrust. Clint had talked about Natasha, saying she'd had a rougher childhood than his own, but he hadn't told her anything about his partner besides that. Clint took trust very seriously, and he wouldn't betray his partner just because he and Courtney were friends.

Before she could move on, Natasha finished her workout and turned toward the door. Today, she wore a sleeveless black shirt and shorts that hugged her frame perfectly and made her look just like she'd stepped off the page of a magazine. Courtney felt dowdy next to her and wondered, not for the first time, why Clint kept coming back to Amarillo.

Natasha caught sight of her and smiled. "Good morning."

Courtney tried to return the smile. "Hi." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "Sorry I interrupted. I'll just. . . ."

"I'm finished." Natasha walked toward the edge of her mat, picking up a towel and water bottle as she did so. "And you're not interrupting."

This morning, Courtney could see the minute lines around Natasha's eyes that indicated she was older than she appeared. "Yeah, but I kind of feel like it."

Natasha glanced over, her gaze dropping to Courtney's feet and back up. "Clint leave yet?" At Courtney's surprised look, she shrugged. "He asked me to check in on you and make sure you're okay."

"He left a little over an hour ago." Courtney fell into step with the other woman, letting Natasha lead the way and just thankful that this wasn't even more awkward than it had to be. "He said he'd be back tomorrow."

Natasha nodded. "It's a straightforward mission."

"Is it?"

At the question, Natasha stopped walking and faced Courtney. "You don't think so?"

"I—I don't. . . ." Courtney floundered for words. "I don't know what to think," she finally admitted. "I came because I needed space and time away from Amarillo and that there, but all I can see when I think about what Clint's doing is the bank and the gunshots and the blood. . . ."

The inscrutable expression that Natasha had worn faded the longer that Courtney rambled, and she finally reached out and took her by the arm. "Come on."

"Where?"

"You need air."

Courtney let the redhead drag her through the Tower to the spa and out onto a balcony with a lap pool. The view was breathtaking, as anywhere, and the gentle lapping of the water reminded Courtney that there was stuff to do in the Tower that didn't require her to leave. She walked over to the railing, leaning her elbows on it and looking down. The sheer distance caused a wobble in her stomach, but the breeze in her hair was worth it.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to think about what to do now. What was her next move? She had thought it would be to spend time with Clint, but he'd been called away. Never before had she felt so out of place, and she breathed a sigh of relief when Natasha slipped into the cabana for a shower.

She didn't belong here. Not really. She'd come to get away from Amarillo, but maybe that had been a mistake. She felt the frustration rising and tried to tone it down. A breakdown was not needed right now. Not when she had too much stuff to think about.

And suddenly she didn't want to be alone. Shaking her head at herself, Courtney let the wind continue to blow through her hair and ignored the odd, painful sensation in the region of her heart. Maybe one day soon, she'd figure out what it meant. But that wouldn't be today.

oOo

Natasha left Courtney alone, letting her breathe for a few moments while using the cabana to shower and change. Clint used the lap pool often, and Stark had put in the shower so he could rinse the chlorine from his body before going inside. Once she'd finished, she joined Courtney at the railing.

The bank teller was shaken. Natasha could see it as clearly as she could see how Clint felt for the woman. When he'd first told her about Courtney, she had worried that he'd get his heart broken. That Courtney would find out what Clint really did and run. She hadn't, which had earned her a bit of respect in the Russian's eyes. But she hadn't been faced with the reality of Clint's job. . .until now.

Turning her back to the railing, Natasha leaned her elbows on it and lifted her face to the sun, letting the rays dry her hair. "What did Clint tell you about his job?"

Courtney shrugged. "That he was a sniper. The contingency plan if things went sideways with your missions."

"So, you knew." Natasha cocked her head to one side. "Did you think he was only called upon when I got in trouble?"

Courtney hung her head. "He said he shot up places when I asked him about the bank."

Natasha didn't touch that. Courtney was obviously dealing with some real problems concerning the bank shooting, and she needed someone to help her through them. Until he'd been called away, that had been Clint. Instead, Natasha chose to focus on the current issue. "He does. Shoot up places, I mean," she added when Courtney looked confused. "Clint's the best marksman I know. He's certainly the best archer in the world. There's a ranking system, and he's pretty high up on the list. But he doesn't take that position lightly. He spends time honing his craft, and he doesn't kill indiscriminately."

Courtney flinched when Natasha said that, telling the Black Widow that _this_ was the woman's real problem. Instead of letting it go, she pulled out the secure Stark phone she'd been given and opened the details on the mission. She already knew Courtney's security clearances better than Courtney did, what with Clint insisting on telling her what really happened with Loki.

With the file open on her phone, Natasha offered it to her. "This is Diego Arriola," she said, adding the appropriate Spanish accent to the name. "This is who Clint was sent to take out."

Courtney turned, her skeptical expression more like Clint's than Natasha had ever seen anyone wear. It showed how much time the two had actually spent together. "Are you supposed to be showing me that?"

"Probably not," Natasha said with a roll of her eyes. "But you need to know." _And Clint needs to know you'll handle this better next time,_ she added silently. "Go ahead. Take a look."

Courtney took the phone and started scrolling through the information there. Natasha had already read it and spent most of the night helping Clint plan and prepare for the mission.

Diego Arriola was a member of the Colombian drug cartel responsible for shipping large amounts of illegal substances across the Mexico-US border. He arranged for bribes, assassinations, and smugglers to carry their drugs. The file Natasha had pulled up spared Courtney the grotesque pictures of dozens of men and women cut open to get to the drugs, but it outlined everything Arriola had done. He wasn't a nice guy, just visiting the States with his family. He had come up for a meeting with one of Phoenix's gangs in preparation for supplying said gang with enough product to cause real problems.

Clint's surveillance mission in Arizona was still paying off.

Finally, Courtney handed the phone back to Natasha. "You've made your point."

"Have I?" Natasha cleared the screen and slipped the phone in the back pocket of her jeans. "For the record, he argued with Fury over this mission last night. Said he really couldn't leave right now. But Fury was adamant Clint go. He knows the terrain better than I do, and he won't be as noticeable as I am. He didn't say it, but he was worried about you and about what you'd think if, the day after you got here, he took off to eliminate this scumbag.

"He's not just killing some _yuvelirnyye izdeliya_ because SHIELD wants what the guy has to offer. That's not how Clint or SHIELD operates." Natasha watched the emotions flickering across Courtney's face. "He's eliminating a man who has murdered more innocent people than I care to think about. It's not an easy job, and it's not one that he really enjoys. But he does it because he's _good_ at it. And because, in the long run, he'll save more lives than if he lets Arriola live."

Courtney didn't have an answer for that, and Natasha didn't need one. She kept her attention focused on the inside of the spa, seeing Pepper wander in and then right back out when she saw the two at the railing. Still, she watched Courtney. The other woman's shoulders had slumped, and the wind picked up strands of her long hair and blew them around her face. Courtney was pretty in a girl-next-door sense, and Natasha could understand Clint's attraction to her. She wasn't SHIELD, wasn't military, and wasn't a member of the Avengers. In short, Courtney was innocent. And that appealed to Clint on a very basic level. Natasha's own relationship with Clint had, at one point, been romantic. But they'd drifted apart after several months, realizing that neither of them could settle into anything until they'd cleared their ledgers. Since then, they'd met other people who saw past the ledger and still found value in them. Clint had Courtney, and Natasha had Steve. For two assassins with more red in their ledgers than black, having that person helped center them and strengthen them.

This mission was more about Clint's relationship with Courtney than the need to eliminate Arriola. Natasha knew that, though she kept the information to herself. Fury did nothing without thinking through every possibility, and, even though she questioned his motives and methods, she understood the point SHIELD's director was trying to make. Clint needed to face the hard truths of falling in love with a civilian. And Courtney needed to see what his job did to him. If they could get through the mission with the full knowledge that Clint was an assassin just working for the good guys, then the relationship could last. It might have its strained moments, but it would survive.

Watching Courtney work through her emotions with the knowledge of Clint's target helped Natasha accept her. Courtney wasn't going to run back to Texas with her tail between her legs. She had strength she didn't even know about, and that strength was likely what drew Clint to her. He saw to her heart, even when she didn't think he had. And, if she pulled herself together, he would return the favor by making her the happiest woman alive. In more ways than one. Clint bent over backward for the people he cared about, and Natasha felt a vague sense of envy for what Courtney shared with him.

Finally, Courtney heaved a sigh. "Thanks."

Natasha smiled at the single word. "You sound like him, you know. He has this way of saying certain things that no one else does."

A flush darkened Courtney's cheeks, making Natasha wish she could still blush just because she was embarrassed and not because she had that level of control over how she seduced men. "We did spend a few days together recently."

Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Anything I should know about?"

"No." Courtney shook her head as she spoke. Then, a confused expression replaced the embarrassment. "He has this habit of sticking out his tongue when someone takes a picture. What's that all about?"

Natasha snickered. "You mean like this?" She mimicked Clint's face, drawing a laugh from Courtney. "That. . .I don't know. He's always done that."

"Well, I got a call from my sister a few days before the shooting." Courtney pulled out her phone and tapped the screen, turning it to show Natasha a picture. "That's my nephew, Jeremiah," she said, pointing at the boy doing a spot-on imitation of Clint with his tongue hanging out and holding up his fingers in the universal "peace" sign. "He did that right before the photographer snapped his school picture."

Natasha laughed at that. "Did they retake it?"

"Yes, but his teacher wanted to know what had happened. My sister told her that his aunt's boyfriend did that all the time."

Now that the tension from a few moments ago had broken, Natasha let a grin linger on her face. "Clint's usually pretty serious, but a lot of our lives revolve around things people would rather not think about. I'm glad he has you and your nephew to relax with."

Courtney accepted the compliment with grace, turning her back to the city as well. She sighed. "So, this spa is all for the Avengers?"

Natasha grinned. "Yep. Stark makes sure we're well cared for. So far, Pepper's the only one who's used it."

"You don't?"

"Haven't had time."

"What about today?"

Natasha took a moment to study the woman next to her and saw the olive branch for what it was. Courtney might not be fully okay with Clint's job, but she'd had her eyes opened to reality. Which was all Natasha intended to do. If Clint returned to questions about what he'd done, he'd handle them better if they came from a genuine desire to understand him rather than the mistaken assumption that he'd just murdered an innocent man.

Realizing Courtney was waiting for an answer, Natasha straightened. "I have the time." She pulled her phone back out of her pocket. "Let me text Pepper. We'll make a girl's day out of this."

When Courtney agreed with a nod, Natasha knew she'd done the right thing. Girl talk and all that wasn't necessarily her strong suit, and she'd have to call on her "skill set" to be able to get through it. But it was what Courtney needed. And, if for no other reason than it would make Clint happy, Natasha could see to it that his girlfriend was pampered and relaxed when he got home.

oOo

Just under twenty-four hours after he'd left, Clint arrived back at Stark Tower no worse for the wear. He'd managed to rest a bit on the plane ride home, pushing away his questions about how Courtney had fared until he'd slept a few hours. Once he woke, however, he'd had a nervous energy that kept him from resting at all. Instead, he tapped his fingers on his knee as he wondered what waited for him in New York.

Courtney had not been happy when he left. _He_ hadn't been happy when he left. Fury's call had arrived after Clint reached his apartment the previous evening, and he had argued with SHIELD's director for the better part of an hour. In the end, he lost. He'd shipped out after seeing the way Courtney's face fell and honestly expected her to have flown back to Amarillo after this. She'd just had her world turned upside down, and facing the reality of his job, not just what he'd told her, was probably too much.

"Welcome home, Agent Barton." JARVIS's voice made Clint smile the moment the elevator door closed behind him.

"Thanks," he said softly. "What's happening?"

"Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are in their labs. Captain Rogers is in the gym. Ms. Bauer and Agent Romanoff are currently in the former's apartment, sharing tea." JARVIS's rundown of the Tower's residents surprised Clint. "Would you like me to inform them of your arrival?"

"No." Clint picked up his bag and turned toward his apartment. "I'll clean up and track them down."

"Very good, Sir." JARVIS fell silent, and Clint slipped into his apartment. He stowed his gear, hung the bow on the wall where it belonged, and gathered up clean clothes. He had less than a day before he had to appear as Hawkeye to the rest of the world for the anniversary of the alien attack on Manhattan, and he wanted to spend it with Courtney if possible. His plans to take her to Central Park and let her walk to her heart's content had been put on hold for this little mission, but he had time now. Maybe, after a long talk, she'd even agree to dinner.

He showered and dressed, brewing his typical cup of coffee while sorting some of the mail on his desk. The fan letters kept pouring in, but he'd actually lost the sense of dismay whenever he saw them. If it wasn't for Jeremiah's fan mail, he might never have met Courtney. And his world would have been a little darker for that.

With his coffee in one hand, Clint finally made his way to Courtney's apartment. He knocked and waited, looking unconcerned in spite of the uncertainty coiling in his gut. He needn't have worried. She answered the door wearing a white tailored shirt that instantly distracted him, jeans, heeled boots, and a sparkle in her green eyes that only laughter put there. She'd pulled her hair into a bun, the look both casual and elegant. A charming expression covered her face, and she smiled. "Hi."

Clint struggled to get his mind to work for just a moment. "Hey. Is it a bad time?"

Courtney glanced over her shoulder to where Natasha stood in the kitchen. "No. We were just having tea." She stepped back and let him in, her heels clicking as she did so. "You're just in time to join us."

Clint looked from Courtney to Natasha and saw the matching smirks on their faces. He knew Natasha well enough to know she was dangerous when plotting. But, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out if Courtney was just mimicking Natasha or involved in the plot. The two most important women in his life had become friends, and he had no idea how to handle it.

Natasha snickered when he didn't answer. "Relax," she said as she carried a tray with a teapot around the island and into the living room. "We were just talking about the best way to get a pair of spurs from Texas to Pepper without Stark noticing."

Clint chuckled. "Who's idea was that?"

Courtney snorted. "Pepper's. She also asked for a pair of cowboy boots to go with the spurs."

"I do _not_ want to know!" Clint caught Natasha's eye, glancing toward the restroom. His partner picked up on his unspoken message and said something about being right back. She went to "freshen up," conveniently giving Clint and Courtney a few moments together. He touched Courtney's elbow. "How are you?"

She nodded. "Good." Her smile faded a touch. "I had a pretty bad dream last night, but I'm okay."

"Sorry I wasn't here."

"Don't be." She sighed, her fingers twisting together as her expression changed to one of uncertainty. "Natasha told me about Arriola."

Clint's eyebrows nearly touched his hairline. "She did?"

"She felt like I needed to understand what you were doing."

He made a mental note to have a long talk with Natasha about interfering in his relationship with Courtney. "And. . .?"

"And I don't know." Courtney stared at him, her heels putting her almost at eye level. "Clint, I just saw people I know get killed. I don't know if. . .I mean, that's not something I can put behind me. Not immediately. But I understood what Natasha was saying. Arriola was a monster. I can see how SHIELD would want someone like that eliminated."

"So, you're okay with me?"

"With you, yes." She shrugged. "With your job? Give me a little more time."

Clint accepted that with a nod, knowing he might need to make up some ground with Courtney while she was here. Being confronted with the reality of what he did for a living so soon after the shooting at the bank had set her back on her heels. He reached for her hand and tugged her into a hug. "I'm still me," he said softly as Natasha flushed the toilet. "I haven't changed."

Courtney returned the hug immediately, lifting her head only when Natasha reappeared. The three of them settled on the couch, and the two women immediately started discussing their plans for the spurs, letting Clint decompress without pushing him to get involved. It was one reason he loved both of them, though in vastly different ways. Natasha was his partner, a former lover who had become the closest thing to family he had left from his past. The Avengers were slowly filling that role, as well, but he and Natasha had years on them. Courtney was. . . .Clint couldn't be sure what Courtney was to him, but he knew he loved her. Right now, it was the best he could hope for.

As these thoughts drifted through his head, he closed his eyes and listened to Courtney and Natasha chatter until he fell asleep.

~TBC

**Author's Note II:** "Yuvelirnyye izdeliya" means schmuck, according to Google. If this is wrong, let me know. ~lg


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note:** Well, the results are in. 78% of those who voted in the poll voted for more detail, more real-time chapters. As a result, posting _will_ slow down as I write. Like I said before, the last bit of the story is outlined. So it's just a matter of time to get it all on paper. I won't be posting new chapters until the one after it is written. Thank you for all of your input and patience! :)

**Cara:** I realized that Courtney would struggle with Clint's job, that she wouldn't be able to just put it behind her immediately. So, there's been a slight detour while she gets used to that. But plenty of angst and fluff ahead.

**assantra:** I hope to continue being so prompt in updating. I'm hoping for every other day right now, especially since the characters are sort of taking over this part of the fic.

As always, I hope all of you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Courtney knew the moment Clint fell asleep next to her and buried her smile. She needn't have worried about angering her guest, though, because Natasha grinned. The Black Widow didn't pause in her conversation, and Courtney took it as an indication that this was Clint's routine. Maybe he always came home, drank a cup of coffee, and promptly fell asleep.

Deciding to test just how soundly he was sleeping, she carefully stood and went into the kitchen with the now-empty teapot. He never stirred.

"Wow." Natasha's voice next to her startled Courtney, and she jumped. The redhead met her eyes, a smile still playing around the corners of her mouth. "That's the first time he's gone to sleep with someone else besides me or Coulson in the room."

Courtney blinked. Clint had done the same thing in Texas, the night he told her about Loki. She didn't mention it, though, choosing to continue the conversation that had drifted away from Pepper and spurs. As she settled in one of the chairs, leaving the couch for Clint, she studied him. He wore relaxed fit jeans and a black t-shirt, the sun catching his brown hair where it spiked in the front. Now that she thought about it, he always had a healthy tan, and she supposed that came from his travels.

Would he ever take her to some of the nicer places he'd visited? The ones that didn't have many bad memories attached? The thought of traveling with Clint told her more about what she wanted from their relationship than anything else could. Natasha seemed to read her need for introspection and, rather than drawing her out, left her to her thoughts for a time.

Just before noon, Natasha's phone beeped. She glanced at it and sighed. "I have lunch plans. But thank you for tea."

Courtney grinned. "With Steve?" At the redhead's sharp glance, she shrugged. "Clint said you two were dating."

A mischievous expression crossed Natasha's face. "Remind me of that the next time he fusses at me for interfering." She reached out with her toe and nudged Clint's foot. "And always wake him this way until he gets used to you."

Courtney wanted to ask why, but Clint jerked awake at that moment, not reacting badly but still needing a few seconds to remember where he was. He glanced at the two women. "Hey."

Natasha smirked and headed for the door. "I'll see you two later."

Clint ran a hand over his face. "Have fun, Nat."

Courtney waited until Natasha had left the apartment before turning back to Clint. His voice was rough from sleep, but he seemed to be waking up easily enough. In fact, his only problem appeared to be the cold coffee in his cup. Courtney chuckled when he frowned seriously at it. "I can make more."

He blinked at her. "That would be great." He stood while she took his cup to the kitchen and started the coffee maker. "Just be glad Stark hasn't rigged his appliances to be almost sentient or named the fridge Coolio."

JARVIS chose that moment to pipe up. "Actually, Agent Barton. . . ."

"Never mind!" Clint said quickly. "I don't wanna know!"

Courtney laughed at the mock shudder that ran through Clint's frame and turned on the water to rinse the cold coffee from his cup. He turned his back on her, studying the view from her windows and giving her the perfect opportunity to stare at him.

He really looked great. He'd had about two hours of rest while she and Natasha visited, and he seemed totally unrepentant for falling asleep on them. Courtney liked that. While she still wasn't okay with his job, she could still admit to being more than a little attracted to the danger that Clint presented. He wasn't like every other man out there. He had his secrets, his faults, and his mysteries. Over time, he'd told her a lot of his secrets, and she had a feeling she was about to be exposed to a few of his faults. His mysteries. . .Part of her wanted to figure them out, and the other part preferred they stay the way they were. After all, the mysterious side of him created such an alluring package that he tended to dominate her thoughts whenever he was just in the room.

The coffee finished brewing while Courtney put the tea set away and washed the cups she and Natasha had used. She left out the sugar bowl and creamer, though. Clint didn't drink his coffee the same way every time, and she had learned she could never really anticipate what he'd prefer. Today, he added a touch of cream, two teaspoons of sugar, and a little more cream after he'd tested it. Then, he rocked back on his heels. "So, what are the plans for the afternoon?"

Courtney shrugged. "Whatever. You're the one with the big memorial tomorrow."

He nodded and thought for a minute. "How about we go get a late lunch and do some sightseeing?"

"Sounds great." She smiled when he straightened.

"Good." He grinned. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes?"

Courtney agreed with a nod, and he left her apartment. She stared at the door, still trying to get herself in the right head space to deal with Clint. The realization of what his job entailed had been a pretty tough blow, and she had spent more than a few of the last twenty-four hours thinking about what it meant to be in a relationship with an assassin. It made her head hurt, and she wanted to go back to pretending he was just a spy.

Then, she snorted. As if _that_ was any better.

"Well, what did you expect?" she asked herself as she quickly set the apartment to rights and grabbed a light jacket. "You _did_ see him in action last year. He wasn't just hanging out on rooftops for no reason."

The pep talk did little to relieve the confusion, and she put it out of her head. Clint waited downstairs and led her to a nondescript truck. Courtney sat back as he hopped in beside her, smiling at the familiarity of it and realizing that nothing had really changed between them. Yes, she knew what he really did for a living, and, yes, it bugged her. But he was still the same man he'd been for months. Why would that change now, just because she knew?

Remembering the night he told her about Loki and his challenge to ask him anything, she decided to give that a try now. "Mission go okay?"

He eyed her as he merged into traffic. "Yes." He stared out the windshield. "Don't think you have to ask just because it's expected."

"I'm asking because I want to know." She shook her head. "I might have problems with it, but that doesn't mean I don't take an interest in _you_."

He thought about that and then nodded once. "It went okay," he said softly. "Phoenix was nice, but so was coming home." The smile he sent her way told her that he meant coming home to _her_. And that meaning put an answering smile on her face that didn't quite fade for the rest of the day.

oOo

The next day, New York commemorated the battle that had changed the face of the planet. Courtney could hardly believe it had been a year since aliens attacked, and the memorial at the end of Park Avenue, where the most intense fighting had taken place, had already drawn a crowd by the time she woke. She stood in her apartment, looking down at the gathering at the base of Stark Tower, and sighed. Last night, as she and Clint wandered through the city, he'd grown more and more withdrawn. The lines around his eyes deepened, and Courtney knew he was thinking about his part in the whole thing. She'd simply taken his hand, somehow sensing words wouldn't help. He had laced their fingers together, staying close, and quietly asked her to go to the memorial service with him.

Courtney had hesitated for a moment. She hadn't brought a dress for such a huge thing as the memorial, but the expression on Clint's face made her say yes. He'd looked almost desperate, a clear sign that, while he had healed up a bit since then, he would always have problems with what had happened. Once he left her at her apartment, she contacted Pepper, who provided a sleeveless black sheath dress that fit her perfectly. The shoes were a touch too small, but Courtney could handle them if it meant helping Clint get through the day.

As she dressed and pinned her hair up in a conservative but attractive style, she thought about what it meant to be escorted to this event by Hawkeye. She had never seen Clint in his Avengers persona before, and it promised to be an interesting revelation. This was another side to a man who had rapidly become her best friend—if not more—and she was both eager and hesitant. She _wanted_ to see him as Hawkeye, but she didn't want it to change how she viewed him.

At the right time, she left her apartment and rode the elevator up to the penthouse, where the Avengers were meeting. While the memorial was taking place at the base of Stark Tower, the Avengers would arrive in style: a SHIELD Quinjet piloted by one of SHIELD's best. She smoothed her skirt, hoping she looked appropriate for such a huge publicity event, and stepped out of the elevator.

Her first sight of Clint as Hawkeye made her stop in her tracks. He stood next to Captain America, both men impressive in their costumes. Clint, however, took Courtney's breath away. He wore black combat boots, Kevlar-reinforced pants, and a sleeveless top with the SHIELD logo on the chest and Kevlar inserts. Deep purple, almost burgundy, accents had been added to it. His quiver was full of arrows, and he held his bow in one hand while he fiddled with his archer's glove with the other.

About that time, he glanced up and saw her. Courtney tried to wipe the surprise from her face, but she failed because he grinned. He moved to her side, his grin changing as he looked over her. "You look nice."

Courtney flushed and leaned close. "This is different," she said, indicating the costume.

He rolled his eyes. "Fury insisted we dress like this."

"Fury?"

"SHIELD's director. You'll get to meet him today."

The rest of the Avengers showed up a few minutes after that, each one decked out save for Dr. Banner. He wore his typical slacks and button-down shirt under a blazer. Given that his unique abilities included transforming into a huge green man, no one really wanted to irritate him. He complimented both Courtney and Pepper, and the group minus Iron Man boarded one of SHIELD's Quinjets. Natasha moved fluidly through the ship to the copilot's seat, leaving Courtney to stare in amazement as Clint dropped into the pilot's chair. She felt Captain America's presence and schooled her features, but she intended to have a long conversation with Clint about not telling her everything. Had she known _he_ was the pilot for today, she might have asked him to teach her to fly or some such thing. Then, she rolled her eyes at how cliche that sounded.

Sitting next to Steve, Courtney felt rather out of place but didn't say a word when she saw the somber expressions around her. Clint lifted off of Stark Tower's helipad and piloted them around the tower to approach as planned, and Courtney took a moment to really consider how easily he handled the controls. Should it really surprise her that he could fly a plane like this?

They arrived at the end of Park Avenue to the thunderous applause of thousands of people. News crews tried to take in every second and jockeyed for attention. Captain America led the way off the Quinjet, smiling and waving for the masses as he went. Natasha followed, along with Banner, both of them somewhat uncomfortable with the praise. Clint, who had taken some time to secure the plane and pull on his archer's glove, drew in a deep breath and looked at Courtney. "Ready?"

She eyed the crowd. "No."

He chuckled and held out his hand. She took it and, after he laced their fingers together, carefully stepped out of the jet. Like with the other Avengers, the crowd went wild. He lifted his bow rather than waving, and Courtney gave an embarrassed half-wave. She had never been one for excessive amounts of attention, and it disconcerted her now, especially when the cameras started clicking away once the reporters caught how Clint held her hand. On the platform, a tall black man with an eye patch watched the two of them approach with a stern expression. Clint straightened slightly after they'd climbed the steps to sit next to the rest of the crew.

The black man held out his hand to Courtney. "Ms. Bauer. Thank you for being here today."

She shook his hand. "You're welcome." She glanced questioningly at Clint.

He got the message. "Director Fury, Courtney Bauer. Courtney, Director Nick Fury."

Fury's one eye sparkled. "A pleasure."

"Likewise," she stammered back. SHIELD's director was an intimidating man, and the way he half-smiled made him seem even more so.

They found their seats as the crowd again erupted into chaotic cheering. Iron Man buzzed the audience and then lowered onto the ground in time to greet Pepper. They also walked to the stage to take the last two chairs, seemingly unconcerned with the cheering, as Fury stepped to the podium. Just as SHIELD's director started to speak, a clap of thunder shocked everyone, and a blond giant wearing medieval armor and a red cape landed next to the stage. The crowd again went wild as Thor, the sixth member of the Avengers, set his date to the event on her feet. Dr. Jane Foster—Clint whispered her name in Courtney's ear—looked slightly windblown but completely taken with the Asgardian. Thor smiled at the entire gathering and raised his hammer before gallantly escorting Jane to her seat.

The anniversary ceremony sobered after their arrival. Fury said a few words, followed by the mayor of New York. The names of the dead were read, a long list that caused more than a few tears. When they read Phil Coulson's name, Courtney felt Clint tense beside her, and she reached over to take his hand. He sent a tense smile her way, and she found herself hoping the event ended soon. He needed to get away, to be alone and cope with the memories this anniversary stirred.

After the ceremony, the media and fans descended on the Avengers. Courtney had cameras shoved in her face, and Clint wrapped an arm around her shoulders while pushing people back. Fury intervened, and Pepper, Courtney, Jane were all treated with a bit more respect. The festivities wound down slowly, but Courtney decided to enjoy the day outside. It wasn't a happy day, and she saw the sadness on many faces. Most of the hoopla came from the media hype, and she realized that the people of New York celebrated the Avengers as fiercely as they mourned for their lost loved ones. Clint and Natasha slipped out of the limelight, leaving Stark, Steve, and Thor to bear most of it. Pepper and Jane pulled Courtney into their circle, keeping her from feeling awkward and so out of place. As it was, she still kept an eye out for Clint. It wasn't until most of the crowd of reporters had vanished that she found Clint standing some distance away, looking at the skyscrapers that towered over them.

Kicking off the troublesome heels she'd been wearing, she walked across the pavement to his side. He'd looped his bow over his shoulders and had his arms crossed over his chest. She'd seen this side of him the night he told her about Loki, and she knew he wasn't in a happy place. Rather than saying anything, she touched his arm. He loosened his elbow enough for her to slip her arm through, and then she simply leaned against his shoulder.

The emotion of the day had also affected her. As New York celebrated their victory over the Chitauri and mourned their dead, Courtney had wiped away tears shed for her lost coworkers. The tragedy in Amarillo paled in comparison to New York, but it gave her a reason to grieve without needing to be alone. Now, she felt empty. She wanted to curl up somewhere and sob, but it wouldn't do much beyond give her a headache. Being with Clint, helping him through the rest of the day, would be what she needed to get through this.

He glanced over. "You ready to go?"

She nodded. "Please."

A quick word to Natasha, and the Avengers who wanted a ride on the Quinjet were loaded in it for the short trip back to the top of Stark Tower. Fury flew with them, his eye studiously _not_ watching Courtney, which made her feel as if she were under a microscope. This was Clint's boss, the man responsible for sending him to Arizona and on most of his missions. She wondered who Phil Coulson was, having heard the name fall from both Clint's and Natasha's lips, but she didn't have the heart to ask right then. Coulson was one of those secrets that Clint hadn't told her yet.

Stark was waiting for the team when they arrived, already having ordered shawarma for everyone. Clint rolled his eyes at the sight of the food and quietly explained that the entire team had eaten shawarma for their post-battle meal. The mood was sober but friendly, and conversation started almost immediately. Thor had apparently been in Asgard until now, and he gladly introduced "his Jane" to the rest of the team. He called Courtney, Pepper, and Natasha "Lady" and in general made everyone relax. Stark shed his armor, courtesy of JARVIS, and proceeded to start needling anyone close by. The whole time, Natasha sat next to Steve and leaned against Captain America's side while calmly ignoring anything that Stark had to say.

Once everyone had been served, a sad hush fell over the whole group. Courtney sat next to Clint, tense and waiting for what could either break the tension or cause more. Then, Clint swallowed hard and held up his drink. "To Phil," he said brokenly.

The rest of the group nodded sadly, and Courtney raised her glass with them even if she didn't fully understand. This Phil had meant the world to Clint and Natasha, and she caught the sadness on other faces.

Eventually, everyone began to eat, but Clint picked at his food. Courtney ate enough to satisfy her hunger, breathing a sigh of relief when Natasha made her excuses to leave. Steve followed a short time after that, and Clint sent a questioning glance to Courtney. She nodded, and they, too, left the gathering as Stark explained where Thor and Jane could stay.

They reached Clint's apartment door before hers. He hesitated slightly and then turned. "Want to come in?"

Sensing his need to _not_ be alone, she smiled. "I'd love to."

He unlocked the door and let her go first, watching as she got a good look at the place he called home. Courtney fell in love with his apartment the moment she stepped through the door. The exposed brick and wood beams, bare light fixtures, and concrete floors were just so _Clint_ that it made her smile. A coat rack beside the door held several leather jackets, and she saw a rack of recurve bows on one wall. The room was huge, flowing into a kitchen and dining area. One wall had built-in bookcases, and the flatscreen TV was mounted between two of them. Clint had a different view of the city than she did in her apartment, but she liked his home better. The warm reds and browns of the brick and wood were soothing, and the high ceilings kept it from seeming too close. It had the feel of a converted warehouse, and she grinned as Clint slipped out of his quiver, hung the bow on a rack holding several others, and calmly told her to make herself comfortable. He disappeared down a hallway and into another room, returning a few minutes later minus the Hawkeye suit. Her eyes dropped to his feet as she realized he was barefoot, and her grin widened. It made her feel special to be seeing his private space.

Setting her shoes beside the couch, she followed him to the kitchen, where he started pulling the fixings for hot chocolate from the cupboards. He'd made it for her right after the shooting at the bank, and she realized it was as much a comfort food for him as it was for her. Rather than interrupting, Courtney wandered the public areas of the apartment, finally coming to a stop at the rack of bows. The bottom, most accessible, one was the bow he'd carried that day. Black and sporting a laser scope and several buttons, it looked customized and very, very lethal. Three others hung above it, the topmost one polished wood and worn by years of use.

Clint appeared with a mug of hot chocolate for the two of them. Courtney accepted hers and pointed to the top bow. "What's that one?"

"The one I learned on." He set aside his cup and pulled it down, showing her the proper way to hold it. "This thing is. . . ." His voice trailed off while he did some mental math. ". . .at least thirty years old. It was old when I got it."

She let her hands run over the smooth wood, admiring the graceful lines of the weapon. Not for the first time, she could see why Clint, as a boy, had been drawn to it. There was a drama, an elegance, to a recurve bow that almost nullified the deadliness of it in the hands of the right man. She handed it back to him and watched as he returned it to its place of importance on the rack.

He stepped back a moment later, turning to face her. "Thanks for going today."

"You're welcome." Courtney met his eyes. "I knew it would be hard, but. . . ."

"Yeah." He shook his head, picking up his hot chocolate and tugging her into the living area. They settled on the couch, his arm draped around her shoulders as he continued speaking. "I guess I wasn't expecting to hear Coulson's name."

"Who was Coulson?" she asked quietly.

"My handler." Clint's answer was immediate and laced with overwhelming grief. "He recruited me into SHIELD." For a long time, he was silent as he drank his hot chocolate. Courtney stayed quiet, letting him think. Finally, he looked at her. "He died trying to stop Loki from leaving the Helicarrier. I was. . .not myself when it happened. Natasha had just recalibrated my brain, so I didn't even realize he was gone until after the fight here."

Courtney set her drink on the coffee table that had been worn by years of use and slipped her arms around Clint's waist. Laying her head on his shoulder, she did the only thing she knew to do for him. He didn't need words or platitudes right then, having moved beyond that stage of grief. All he needed was for someone to hold him, and she stayed in place while he finally let go of the tears he'd held back all day.

oOo

The next morning, Clint wandered through the tower, poking his head into every public area he could think of. He found Rogers in the gym, pounding on a punching bag while Natasha sat nearby and drank a bottle of water. Bruce and Stark had taken up residency in a lab, the former crashed on a worn couch and the latter tinkering with his Iron Man suit. Pepper was at work, and Thor and Jane had yet to appear. The one person he wanted to find had disappeared.

Finally, he gave up. "JARVIS, have you seen Courtney?"

"Ms. Bauer is on the spa balcony," JARVIS responded immediately.

Clint reversed his direction, his footsteps not making a sound in spite of his quick movements. Of all the areas he missed, he hadn't checked the spa. He quite liked the lap pool and made use of it when he couldn't sleep. He'd been out there last night after Courtney left. But she had never really indicated that she was the type to spend time in a spa, hence why he skipped over the place.

Now, he slipped through the spa and looked onto the sun-drenched balcony. The water from the pool sparkled in the mid-morning light, and a breeze caused the cabana to billow slightly. Courtney stood with her back to the building, looking over the city and hugging a thick black sweater around her shoulders. He'd seen that sweater a few times, most notably after the shooting at the bank, and knew it to be her "security blanket," for lack of a better term.

Stepping onto the balcony, he made certain to scuff his feet slightly to avoid spooking her. She turned, a smile on her features in spite of the exhaustion her face showed. "Hey."

He knew that tone. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Just tired."

Clint moved to the railing, his heart falling a little more with every moment. She sounded worn out. "How bad was it?"

She gave him a sheepish glance. "One of the worst."

"And you didn't call me?"

"Should I have?" She whirled to face him, irritation on her features. "Clint, I appreciate that you're there to listen, but I'm a grown woman. I should be able to deal with this on my own!"

He stared at her, caught by her words. If he disagreed, he'd indicate he thought her weak. If he agreed, then he'd be seen as insensitive. He and Natasha had had these arguments before, usually around a certain portion of the month, and Clint had finally figured out there was no good way out.

But this time was worse. Last night, Courtney had sat beside him and listened as he talked about Coulson. He thought they were drawing closer, but she had just admitted to _not_ wanting him around. He decided to try a different tact. "Why didn't you call? I mean, besides what you just said."

She sighed deeply. "I don't know." Her shoulders slumped. "I guess I just didn't want to wake you after everything that happened yesterday."

"Okay, I understand that, but it really wouldn't have bothered me. I _like_ being there to help."

Courtney shook her head. "You shouldn't have to be."

"What does that mean?"

"It means. . . ." She threw up her hands and paced a few steps away. "I don't know what it means! I'm just. . .I'm tired, I have everyone staring at me like I'm either the most interesting museum piece ever or about to break, and I just want some space! Not to have everyone around all the time!"

"So I'm everyone?" The words were out before Clint could stop them, the irritation building more at himself than anything. He'd asked Courtney to come to New York to get away from Amarillo and the effects of the bank shooting, and then he'd promptly abandoned her for a mission. What kind of man did that to the woman he loved?

"That's not what I said!"

"That _is_ what you said." He tried for a calm tone, but it came out sounding a little harsh. He blew out a breath. "Courtney, you don't have to go through this alone."

"And it's been. . .what? A week? Ten days?" She laughed at herself. "I can't even remember how long it's been."

"Seven days," he said quietly. "It's not about the days. Trust me, I should know."

"Then you know what it's like to have everyone walking on eggshells." She shook her head. "I just want _space_! To be able to _move_ without someone hounding my steps and worrying that I'm going to fall apart. I've made it this far, haven't I?"

Now _that _he understood. It had taken three months after Loki left for most everyone to stop acting like he might snap again, and he'd been so frustrated with the entire thing that he'd withdrawn until Natasha knocked some sense into him on the sparring mat. Somehow, he doubted that would work for Courtney. "I'll talk to everyone, if it'll help."

"That's not what I want."

"Then what _do_ you want?" He stared at her, meeting her eyes and not shying away from the anger there. "It's like everything I do to help makes it worse. So you've got to tell me what you want out of me—and everyone else—or we're just going to keep making the same mistakes over and over again. We're not mind-readers, Courtney, and expecting us to know exactly what you need at any given time of the day is unreasonable. All of us, even Stark, have our pasts, and we have our triggers. But no one knows that unless we _tell_ them. So if you need space, just say the word. We'll give you space. If you need to talk, _say _so."

She stared at him, her expression cycling through irritation, anger, frustration, and acceptance. With a nod, she returned to her spot next to the railing. "Sorry," she said after a while.

Clint smiled and leaned against the rail to study her. "No problem."

"Do you always know the right thing to say?"

"No." Clint shook his head. "I just know what helped me last year, and that's all I'm going on."

Courtney nodded but stayed silent, and Clint let her think. He'd ask about her plans for the day later, even if all she wanted to do was take a nap. When she finally did straighten and turn toward the door, he touched her arm. "Hey. If you ever want to talk, call me. I don't care what time it is."

She smiled at him, a genuine, tired smile that touched her eyes, and left him alone. Clint watched her go, his mind already trying to figure out a way to help her. She'd reached the anger stage, the trauma wearing away to frustration that no one seemed to understand. Thankfully, she had a group of people around her who knew exactly what she was going through and, if she let them, they'd carry her until she was able to stand on her own feet again.

That was exactly what Clint intended to do.

~TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** And we're rocking right along. The characters are sort of taking over this story, which is a good thing.

**Cara:** Thanks for the compliments. I always try to keep everyone in character, even if I don't succeed all the time. That's one of the most rewarding parts of writing fanfic, in my opinion.

As always, hope everyone enjoys! ~lg

oOo

Clint didn't see Courtney for the rest of the day. After their disagreement, he returned to his apartment to sort fan mail and try to ignore the need to make certain she was okay. It was overpowering at times, and it surprised him at how worried he'd become. But, with her desire for some distance, he couldn't just call or text her. Right now, that would be viewed as crowding her. Not for the first time, he was both grateful and irritated that he had _some_ experience with temperamental females thanks to his partnership with Natasha.

Reading kids' letters helped. As did the one he found postmarked for the previous day. The handwriting was familiar, and Clint tore it open with a huge grin on his face.

_Dear Mr. Hawkeye,_

_My mom said this would get to you on the anniversary of what happened in New York. I wanted to write and say thank you for all you did for our world. I think you're the greatest superhero there is!_

_Sincerely,  
__Jeremiah Staterson_

_P.S. Can I call you Uncle Clint?_

The question at the end made him laugh aloud in spite of himself. He had liked Jeremiah the moment he met him, and he wished he could respond to the letter with a positive answer. But he needed to know Courtney would be okay with that. If Jeremiah started calling him "Uncle Clint," it would indicate something more between him and Courtney than there already was. And today was _definitely_ not the time to discuss it.

Setting aside the letter to answer at a later time, Clint spent the rest of the evening reading through mail, responding to questions, and thanking kids for pictures. He also finished a report for Fury, checked in with his SHIELD psychologist, and washed laundry. It wasn't the heroic things that most people imagined when talking about the Avengers, but it was his life.

The following morning, Clint dressed for a workout and headed to the gym. He wanted to call Courtney but had instead decided to let her come to him. She usually did anyway, and it would help her feel a little better about herself. Or so he hoped. The technique worked on Natasha, but Natasha was a quite different.

Today, he found Rogers in the gym, pounding away at a punching bag. Natasha nodded to him on his way out, and Clint gave her his trademark grin. While they worked out together on a regular basis, they also read each other well enough to know when they needed time. Today, Clint wanted time.

Moving to the weight machines, he began his typical upper body workout. Later, he'd go for a swim for some cardiovascular exercise, but upper body strength was too important for him to skimp out on. For a time, the only sounds in the gym were the thump of Steve's fists on the punching bag and the occasional clank of the weights. Steve acknowledged Clint's presence, but neither man seemed inclined to talk just yet. Both wrapped up their workout at the same time, and they naturally fell into step as they left the gym.

Steve eyed Clint. "How's Miss Bauer?"

Clint shrugged. "Overwhelmed. I think we sort of crowded her without meaning to."

Steve nodded. "I can see that." He frowned. "She's okay, though?"

"As far as I know."

"How's she doing with what happened the other day? Your mission?"

For just a moment, Clint wanted to tease the super soldier for prying, but then he realized what Steve was doing. As the unofficial leader of the Avengers, it was Steve's responsibility to assess the well-being of his team. If he suspected Clint might be distracted in the field, he needed to know—and to solve the problem right away. That role was a tough one to balance, especially with men. Guys didn't want to seem weak, but they also didn't want distracted comrades fighting alongside them. "She's. . .adjusting. I'd told her what I did, but I don't think it clicked until then. Tasha helped."

Steve grinned. "She said she showed Arriola's file to Courtney."

"I don't know." Clint shook his head. "She told me day before yesterday that she was okay with me, but not with the job. I can handle that. But what happens when the next mission comes up?"

Steve was silent for a moment. Then, he brightened. "Take her to the range. Show her what you do. If she needs it, introduce her to the tools of your job. I know she's coping with a lot right now, and maybe she needs to experience the control to understand the job."

Clint stared at Steve, wondering if the super soldier should become a psychologist. Because it made sense. It made a _lot_ of sense. Courtney was struggling with more than just his job. She'd been exposed to violence for the first time in her life, and anything related to that experience would be a tough pill to swallow. Maybe letting her fire a gun would help her cope a little better. "I'll do that. Thanks."

"That brings up another thing." Now, Steve sounded like he was thinking aloud. "Have you thought about how your job will affect her? Not emotionally, but practically. What happens if one of our enemies goes after her because she's a civilian?"

Clint's face darkened. He _had_ thought about that, but it had always been pushed into the corner of his mind reserved for things to consider later. It hadn't helped that, when he decided to tell Courtney about Loki and everything surrounding his life, Fury had asked him the same question. At that point in time, Clint had had his psychologist pushing Fury to give Courtney security clearance for Clint's sake. But this was different. If he and Courtney continued their relationship, the logical end of how the two of them felt for one another was nothing short of intimate and permanent—in Clint's mind, at least. Which painted a target on her back. He had enemies beyond those related to the Avengers, and they certainly wouldn't hesitate to use her to get to Hawkeye.

How had Coulson done it? While there were other SHIELD agents in long-term relationships, Coulson had been Fury's right-hand. That meant anyone related to Coulson was a target, both due to his current job and his former days as an undercover FBI agent. Yet he had shared a very meaningful relationship with his cellist. He hadn't shown much emotion, but Clint knew her move back to Portland had cut him deeply.

For those few seconds, Clint remembered the day Coulson found out she'd decided to move. It hadn't had anything to do with a job playing the cello but everything with Coulson's work. That day, Coulson had glared at anyone who came into his office, and it had taken Clint being stubborn and not moving to learn that the woman Coulson loved hadn't been able to handle being under constant guard. SHIELD had assigned agents to monitor her for threats and anything that could compromise the agency. It was standard protocol for high-ranking operatives and analysts.

And that gave him his answer. He looked up to see that Steve had gone on about his day, and Clint made a mental note to never mention the conversation again. Guys didn't want to have their heart-to-hearts recalled. Not like that. But Steve had started Clint down a road that needed to be traveled.

With more on his mind than before, Clint finally made his way to the lap pool, stripped out of his sleeveless black t-shirt, and dove in for his daily set of laps.

oOo

Tony Stark wasn't known for opening up and talking to just anyone. And, when he did, he usually had an ulterior motive—like getting Bruce to agree to stay with the Avengers or figuring out where Loki would make his move. _That_ little revelation had shown him just how shallow he'd been, and he'd done everything he could to change the perception. He was still Tony Stark, however, and he would always be a billionaire, genius, and philanthropist. Pepper had slowly changed him from a playboy into _her_ playboy. It took him off the market and made all the difference in his world.

Still, when he spotted Courtney sitting in a corner of one of Stark Tower's balconies, he changed his plans for the moment. He'd been headed up to the penthouse for a drink and a nap. But Legolas's girlfriend appeared so lonely that even he couldn't ignore it.

Even though the day was warm, Courtney wore a big, black sweater that swallowed her form and made her appear shapeless. Which Stark knew wasn't the case. When she'd first appeared, _not_ wearing cowboy boots, he'd been impressed with Clint's luck. She was no Pepper, but Courtney suited the archer perfectly. Just the right amount of vulnerability hiding a wit that had left him temporarily stunned. Unfortunately, he hadn't had a chance to spend much time with her beyond that.

Walking over to where she sat in a patch of sun, Stark cleared his throat and leaned against the railing. It really was a beautiful day out, and this particular balcony had been part of the redesign. The whole top of the tower had been redone. Balconies for people to enjoy the outdoors, spa, gym, shooting range, apartments. . . .All part of Stark's campaign to make the Avengers a viable team. It seemed to be working.

This particular balcony, though, had been reserved for quiet introspection. Stark had been thinking of Romanoff when he designed it, but he rarely saw the Russian out here. Potted plants fluttered in the breeze, and rattan lounges with white cushions made it a luxurious place to linger. Currently, Courtney had curled onto one of those lounges and stared at nothing.

"You know," Stark said when it became obvious that she wasn't going to break the silence, "I thought Romanoff would be the one I found out here. I thought you'd be inside somewhere with Legolas or off shopping with Pepper."

Courtney turned to stare at him, her face pale from lack of sleep. "Didn't feel like being around people." Her tone even sounded like Clint when the Hawk got upset.

Stark turned to face her, leaning one elbow on the railing. "Wanna talk about it?" He shrugged when she glared at him. "I only ask because, frankly, I don't like it when people mope around my Tower all day. It's bad for team spirit and all that." When she just continued to stare, he held up a finger. "Okay, no talking. How about listening, then? 'Cause you're not doing yourself—or Barton—any favors right now."

_That_ got a response. Her head snapped back around, and she stood. "Well, ex-_cuse_ me for not living up to everyone's expectations!"

"Not what I said." Stark straightened. At least she was showing some sort of emotion now. "You're allowed to mope around a little. But shutting out everyone who can help you is a different story. Right now, you're dealing with things you don't know how to handle, and the only people who can help you are walking on eggshells because they don't want to make the matter worse."

"What do you want, Stark? For me to just act like it never happened?"

"You can't do that." He shook his head. "No one can. But you can let those who care about you help you. And, for better or worse, this merry band of misfits likes you. Given that we've all got horrible things in our pasts, you have a whole group of untapped resources just waiting to give you a hand and get you through this little hiccup in your life. Was the shooting bad? Yes. Was it avoidable? Probably. Was it your fault? No. Will it change you? Yes. But it's up to you how you let it change you."

Courtney stared at him, and Stark had to agree with her surprised assessment. He didn't get this. . .mushy. . .for just anyone. Even Pepper didn't warrant this type of treatment very often. "How did you let things change you?" she asked, her eyes dropping to where his arc reactor glowed through his AC/DC shirt.

Stark thought for a moment. "I almost let it kill me," he said softly. He didn't like talking about that phase in his life or about how Rhodey had been forced to intervene. "There were problems with the original reactor that created some health issues, but I bought into the idea I was going to die. And I think I wanted to." He met her eyes. "I needed a reason to keep getting up in the mornings, a reason to go through every day and live. Simple as that."

"And Iron Man was your reason?"

"No." His answer surprised her, and he saw the confusion cross her face. "Pepper. Pepper's my reason." He met her eyes. "Agent Barton's been through more than most of us have put together. Yeah, we all have our histories and our demons. But he already had a pretty crappy life before Loki showed up and took over his mind. He kept going, though, because he had no choice. Offing himself wasn't an option. But things changed in January, when he met you.

"_You_ are his reason to get up in the morning." He saw the way his words impacted her. "It's not about the Avengers or his work with SHIELD or anything else except making sure you're okay and that the world you live in is safe for you and those you love. If that means he has to put his life or his morals on the line to do it, he'll still do so. Why? Because, whether he ever says it or not, he loves you. And if you tell _anyone_ I just got this mushy, I'll find a way to hurt you."

She actually snickered at that last line, as Stark had intended. Rather than sticking around, he headed for the door. "Think about it, Cowgirl," he said as he left the balcony.

"Do you give everyone nicknames?" Her question followed him, and he simply ignored it. Yes, he did. But it meant he cared, and he really didn't want to get into that after having such a serious conversation with her already.

Drink forgotten, Tony headed for his lab and tried to lose himself in his work. But he couldn't put what he'd told Courtney from his mind. Chalking it up to summer and having been inside for too long, he impulsively made reservations at Pepper's favorite restaurant. That evening, he watched the surprise cross her face as he showed up at her office, dressed for a nice dinner. And, when she asked about his reasons for taking her out, he simply smiled and said, "Had to fix something that was broken. I thought we'd celebrate."

oOo

Courtney watched Stark leave the balcony with a stunned expression on her face. Was that true? Was that why Clint had hovered and got so upset when she didn't tell him about her dream? The guilt that shot through her was overpowering, and she realized how selfish she'd been the previous day. She'd expected him to instinctively know what she needed—because he'd done so up until now—and had grown angry when he didn't. Part of her wanted to find him right away and apologize, but the other part forced her to turn toward the balcony railing and really think through everything Stark had said.

Was she helping Clint by being here? Was it as much for him as it was for her? Why had she even come to New York in the first place? Getting away from Amarillo had been the reason she gave her family, and half of her first week here was already gone. She only had ten days or so before she needed to fly back home, and she hated to think she'd ruined her vacation because she got mad.

How was Clint coping? After all he'd been through, some days had to be harder than others. But he never showed her anything except patience and acceptance. Did he ever need to just talk? The other night, he'd held her while grieving for Phil Coulson, but he'd seemed to recover quickly. Or had he just buried the emotions and pressed on? Was that really all he had in his life?

Now that she'd started thinking about Clint and what Clint might need, her own irritation vanished. She left the balcony and turned toward their apartments before she stopped. "JARVIS?" she asked, feeling a little silly for talking to thin air. "Do you know where Clint is?"

"Agent Barton is on the spa balcony." JARVIS's voice held a note of amusement.

"Thank you." Courtney reversed her direction and hurried to the spa. She was completely unprepared for what she saw.

Clint had just finished his swim and heaved himself out of the water as she appeared. Facing away from her, he gave her an excellent view of his back, and she struggled to breathe. She'd always found Clint incredibly attractive, but this. . .! The water sparkled off of his shoulders as he reached for a towel and dried his face.

Then, he noticed her. Courtney quickly averted her eyes, but not before a smirk crossed his face at the obvious scrutiny. She tried to find something to say and failed miserably, finally looking back to see him walking toward her, towel in one hand and smirk fading into concern. She dragged her eyes away from his chest and forced herself to breathe. "Uh. . .I can come back. . .if you're. . .busy."

He shook his head. "You're good." Setting aside the towel, he reached for a black shirt and tugged it on. Not that it did any good. It clung to the water on his body and left his arms bare. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, I just. . . ." She ran out of things to say and tried again. "I wanted. . . ." What? She wanted what? Right then, her mind couldn't seem to think beyond what she'd just seen, and it embarrassed her as much as it irritated her. She finally blurted, "Sorry about yesterday."

"No problem." He stopped in front of her, frowning in concern. "I understand. And maybe I was hovering a bit too much."

She nodded. "Yeah. But it's okay." She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I should probably go. Let you get on with. . .whatever it is you do."

Clint finally laughed at that, catching her hand before she could get out the door. "How does getting out of the Tower sound? We'll take a walk in Central Park like I promised, buy hot dogs, and just ignore the world for a bit."

Courtney nodded and smiled. "That sounds wonderful."

He squeezed her hand before letting it go. "I'll pick you up in an hour."

She felt him watching her the whole way out of the spa. Once in the hallway, she leaned against the wall and breathed a huge sigh of relief. That man should come with warning labels! If he _ever_ allowed the women back home to see what she'd just seen, she'd have to fight off more than a few tellers and friends. He'd been completely unaware of the picture he made, knowing it affected her but not seeming to think anything of it. Granted, he'd been in the circus before joining SHIELD. Staying fit was just a way of life. But for Courtney? She wanted to find the nearest shower and cool down a bit.

In the end, she managed to get a hold on her raging hormones, realizing that the emotion of the last few days was not helping. By the time Clint showed up, she'd regained her composure and breathed a tiny sigh of relief that he was completely dressed. Long-sleeved jersey shirt, jeans, boots, and jacket to hide the weapons he carried. But _knowing_ what was underneath all those clothes did something to Courtney. She could no longer look at Clint the same way. And she hoped that, one day, she'd be allowed to let those thoughts out. Instead, she smiled when he laced their fingers together and resolved to enjoy a stress-free afternoon in the city.

oOo

That night, Courtney dreamed about the shooting. It wasn't anything she hadn't dreamed in the last few days, but her reaction when waking changed. At first, she lay in bed, terrified and fighting not to lose her dinner at the memory of her best friend nearly dying in her arms. Then, she heard Stark's voice. _You are his reason to get up in the morning. It's not about the Avengers or his work with SHIELD or anything else except making sure you're okay and that the world you live in is safe for you and those you love._

Making a decision, she reached for the cell phone lying on the bedside table. Sitting up and pulling the blankets over her shoulders to ward off the chill that always seemed to follow a nightmare, she dialed the first number on her speed dial. The other end rang for a few minutes, and then she heard Clint's sleep-warmed voice. "Courtney? You okay?"

Just the sound of his voice made it seem a little better. "Um. . .no."

She heard rustling. "Nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"Give me a moment. I'll come over."

"Actually, can I come there?" She looked around the bedroom, the view of the Chrysler Building dimmed but not doing much for her state of mind. She liked it here, but his apartment was warm and inviting and everything she needed right then.

When Clint spoke again, he had a smile in his words. "Sure."

Courtney scrambled out of bed and found some slippers. She already wore fleece pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. When she was certain she was presentable if Stark or Captain America interrupted, she left her apartment and padded down the hallway to Clint's door. He answered her soft knock, wearing a black t-shirt and black-and-white plaid pajamas pants. He let her into his apartment and then wrapped her in a hug.

Courtney buried her face in his neck and took a deep breathe. He smelled of coffee and chocolate and something that was so uniquely _Clint_ that she couldn't define it. But there was nothing sexual about the evening. She was too shaken by the dream, and he seemed to understand that. Instead, he ran his fingers through the ends of her long hair and simply waited until she was able to step back. She met his eyes. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He headed for the kitchen, starting a pot of hot chocolate from scratch. "Make yourself at home."

Courtney found a thick knitted blanket on the back of his couch, the cables and design masculine but still very soft. The stitches were irregular, and the yarn changed color in an interesting mix of red, blue, black, yellow, and green. She picked it up and wrapped it around her, huddling into the corner of the couch while listening to Clint putter in the kitchen. Just having someone else nearby helped, but she was still startled when he appeared at her side with a big mug of hot chocolate. Reaching one arm out from under the blanket, she took the mug and thanked him with a smile.

He settled onto the other end of the couch. "Wanna talk about it?"

She stared at him, seeing the open and understanding expression on his face. "I keep seeing Marcy," she said so quietly she wondered if he even heard her. When he nodded, she continued, "It's like it was that day, but I can't seem to forget. I thought time would help, but it just gets worse."

"It hasn't even been ten days," Clint said softly. "Time helps, but it's still pretty fresh for you."

She snorted and rolled her eyes. "The dream the other night? It was me that got shot. I don't even know how it feels, but I still. . . ." She stopped talking when her voice cracked. "I just wish I could forget."

Clint set down his cup and held out his hand. "Come here." When she hesitated, he made a beckoning motion with his fingers. Courtney shifted around on the couch, letting him pull her into his arms again and laying her head on his chest. He sighed. "You'll never forget," he said gently, his voice rumbling under her ear. "But it gets better. You'll have times when you don't think about it, when it's not even a thought in your mind. Those times will become a lot more frequent until, one day, it's just part of the past."

"Is that how it is for you?"

"Mostly." He shifted his position, stretching one leg out on the couch next to her. "Some things I just don't think about. Ever. Because they'll never really go away. But others. . . .The anniversaries are always hard. But you get through it."

Nothing more was said. Courtney never finished her hot chocolate, choosing to tighten her hold on Clint's waist until she felt like she could go back to sleep. He didn't ask her to move, so she refused to worry about it. She drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat under her ear. The next morning, she woke on his couch, covered in that afghan and feeling rested for the first time in days. She never knew that Clint sat up the rest of the night, watching her sleep and making sure he was there to scare away the monsters that hunted her.

~TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** Yay! Keeping up with an every-other-day schedule! As long as the story keeps flowing toward it's ending (and there will be an ending), I hope to keep with the every other day thing.

**Cara:** I'm a big fan of the slow building relationship, so that's what I write. Besides, for these characters, they need it. So glad you're enjoying the story!

As always, hope everyone enjoys! And be warned! Fluff ahead! ~lg

oOo

The next five days passed in relative peace. Courtney tried to keep Stark's words in mind concerning all of the Avengers, and they somehow got the message that they'd been hovering a little too much. She never got Clint to admit whether he told them or not, but it didn't matter. Those five days did wonders for her state of mind. Whenever she dreamed, she called Clint. If it was a bad dream, she'd go over to his place to finish out the night. On those mornings, she usually woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of him humming in the kitchen. Other nights, she simply talked with him until she fell asleep. Part of her appreciated what he was doing, but the other part urged her to draw away. She would return to Amarillo, and he'd stay in New York. For some reason, that bugged her more than a little.

She was also a little homesick. Not for the distance between New York and Amarillo, but for a place of her own. She'd relaxed into the luxury of Stark Tower and could see herself living there long-term. But it wasn't home. Not yet. And she was growing tired of being the guest. The daily emails from Marcy showing pictures of the baby didn't help her relax, either. Most of them urged her to "come home soon" or some variation of that phrase, which added to the conflict because she _didn't_ want to call Texas home anymore. Not if Clint was staying in New York.

Five days before she was scheduled to return to Texas, Courtney managed to sleep through the night. She woke, more at home in the luxurious apartment than she'd been when she first arrived, and smiled at the ceiling. She had a feeling Clint would tease her for being lazy, but she didn't care. They'd been up until after midnight, curled on her couch and watching a movie with the lights of New York City as a backdrop. Sometime just before she fell asleep, she realized the evening had been perfect.

A knock sounded on her door as she finished dressing, and she padded across the tile floors to answer it. When she saw Clint on the other side, her heart fell. "You have another mission."

"Yeah." He glanced over her shoulder. "Will you be okay?"

Courtney smiled immediately. "I'll be fine, Clint."

He tugged his phone from his pocket and called up a file, handing it over to her. "He's an international human trafficker—a scumbag," he said as she stared at the picture on the screen. "Nat's going with me, and we'll be back in about forty-eight hours."

"Is that normal?" She handed the phone back, leaning against the door frame as she met his eyes. "I mean, the time you're gone. Is that typical, or does it depend on the mission?"

His expression closed down. "Depends on the mission. When it's an in-and-out type thing, forty-eight hours is pretty standard. When Nat's going for information, it changes." He shrugged with one shoulder, tipping his head in that direction. "Look, I know you're not. . . ."

She stopped his words with a hand on his arm. "Be safe," she said, rising on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. For that moment, the scent of his aftershave and shampoo overwhelmed her, and she wished she could kiss him a little differently. But she wanted the moment they shared their first official kiss—if it ever came—to be pretty spectacular. Sending him off that way, while memorable, wasn't what she had in mind.

Clint nodded and offered a half-hearted smile. "You, too." He left a few seconds later, walking down the hall and appearing lonely to Courtney. He had his bow in its case, quiver slung over his shoulder. His black combat boots didn't make a sound, and the black shirt he wore showcased his incredible arms. At the elevator, he turned and lifted a hand with a smile.

Courtney stayed in place even after the elevator reached the roof. She knew what troubled him, but she didn't quite know how to fix it. Her struggle to accept his job had tinged their relationship for the last week. It made his departure harder than it should have been, though she had to admit to a healthy appreciation for what he was about to do. Men who smuggled human beings didn't deserve to live in her mind.

The day passed slowly, and Courtney wound up pacing her apartment and trying to fill the hours. She'd been given plenty of time on her own, and Pepper even called to ask her to lunch. She went, but it felt empty. And she couldn't figure out why. She missed Clint, yes, but it seemed to be a bit more than that.

By sunset, she'd again retreated to the balcony where Stark found her five days previously. She'd finally given up any pretense of being okay and was now trying to distract herself with a book.

The door behind her opened, and she watched as Bruce Banner walked to the railing. She and the doctor seemed to get along well, but he kept mostly to his lab. Now, the breeze stirred his unruly dark hair, and he let out a deep sigh as if releasing the weight of the world from his shoulders. Then, he sensed her presence. He turned with a smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to invade."

Courtney set aside her book. "I wasn't really reading, anyway." She stood and joined Bruce at the railing. "Just. . .pretending, I guess." When he raised an eyebrow, she shrugged. "Trying to act like nothing's wrong."

"But something is?"

She stared at her fingers. Natasha had told her that Bruce was the best listener on the team. The doctor had issues of his own, and he seemed to be able to set aside his emotions to help others. "How do you do it, Doc?" She turned to him. "Accept Clint and Natasha for what they do?"

Bruce blinked several times, his eyebrows rising as he thought about her question. "You mean their work for SHIELD?" He waited until she nodded. "Something came up, I take it?"

"Clint left this morning for a mission. Both of them, actually."

"I see." Bruce smiled. "I'm not the best with relationships, Ms. Bauer, but even I know the man's crazy about you."

"I'm not worried about that," she said quickly. Then, she frowned. "Well, yes, I am, but in another way. What's getting me is the job. I know that he's going to kill someone, and I know he's doing it because the world would be a better place without this guy. I know it's a strategic move, and I get that someone has to do the work. But. . . ."

He smiled again, chuckling slightly. "But how to you cope with the knowledge that he's actually killing someone?" When she nodded, his smile widened. "The same way you coped with the idea that he was a spy or an Avenger." He turned to face her. "You're doing a great job already, Ms. Bauer, and you truly do want to understand. That means a lot. You're not just shutting out either of them because their work is. . .unsavory. If you couldn't get past it, you'd have gone back to Texas by now."

"That's the thing." Courtney stopped fiddling with her fingers and met his eyes. "When he's at home, he's this person I know and care about. But I'm scared that, if I ever see him in action, it'll change how I feel about him completely."

"Will it?" Bruce asked instantly. "You knew he was in the fight against the Chitauri. From what I understand, he's told you about Loki and his part in the entire fight. _That_ didn't change your opinion of him, and he was fighting against his own people. Should this change it, when he's fighting against evil? Will the next major attack that requires the Avengers change how you feel? If it does, it should be for the positive, not the negative."

Courtney's eyes moved from Bruce's intense gaze as she chewed on that tidbit of advice. He was right. If she changed how she viewed Clint just by virtue of what she already knew he did, then she didn't care about him as deeply as she thought. If she saw Clint fighting with the Avengers, how would she react? As a fan girl like she had before they'd met? If so, then why was she having such a hard time with the idea he might have to do that again? It made no sense, and she wondered if part of it stemmed back to the shooting at the bank. Though how _that_ related was a complete mystery.

Nodding her head thoughtfully, she smiled at Bruce. "Thanks, Doc."

He returned her smile. "You're welcome."

She watched as he turned to leave, realizing what he'd called her. "And, Doc? My name's 'Courtney.' You _can_ use it."

Bruce's smile changed his face, and Courtney went back to staring at the horizon while thinking over everything he'd said. He was right. Knowing about Clint's work shouldn't change what she knew of the man. If anything, it should make her appreciate him even more. Now, she had full knowledge of the shadows she'd seen in his eyes the first few times they'd gone to dinner, and he'd been able to set those aside for her sake.

That thought made her realize just how selfish she'd been. All this time, she'd been there to "heal" from the shooting in Amarillo, but Clint had likely been suffering his own personal purgatory with the anniversary of the attacks and his own memories. She had seen it in odd moments, but she never really thought about it. Now, she wondered just what she could do for him to repay the debt. Neither of them were ready to change much in their relationship. Yes, Courtney longed for some definition. Were they romantically involved? Or just really good friends? But that shouldn't stop her from helping Clint if he needed it.

That took up most of her thoughts for the remainder of Clint's time away. By the time he came back, she was tired, cranky, and wishing she'd managed to sleep a little. She'd tried, but her internal angst met up with her nightmares and conspired to keep her awake. She'd had nights like this in the past, but it had usually revolved around drama at work, not the reality that the man she might be in love with was somewhere around the world killing a creep who didn't deserve to live. What if it didn't go well? What if Clint was injured? Or worse? What if Natasha had been captured? What if. . . .? The possibilities played through her mind, and she had finally given up on sleeping to sit on the couch.

The knock on the door woke her, and she jumped violently. Her neck ached from where she'd drifted to sleep in an awkward position, and she blinked at the clock. The windows were still dark. "JARVIS? What time is it?"

"It is ten-thirty in the morning," the AI answered before reciting the date and current weather.

Courtney blinked at the headache and rubbed her neck. Then, after glancing down and deciding her pajamas were fine for whoever had bugged her, she stood and went to the door.

Clint smiled at her from the other side. His smile faded a bit. "I woke you."

"Yeah." She shrugged. "It's okay. I was asleep on the couch." She stepped back. "Come in. I'll make coffee."

He stepped into her apartment as JARVIS slowly lightened the windows, making her feel a bit frumpy in her pajamas while he looked fantastic in jeans and a t-shirt. After starting coffee, Courtney ducked into the bedroom to dress, run a brush through her hair, and try to appear as if she hadn't been sitting up for the last two nights. When she returned to the living area, he'd moved to the window and was staring out.

The pair was silent as she made coffee and brought him a cup. He smiled when she offered it, but she realized he didn't want to talk. So, she simply stood next to him and sipped her own. She had so many questions she wanted to ask, but he appeared to be working through the fallout of the mission.

Finally, he glanced at her. "Sorry. Things went. . .a little sideways."

"How bad?"

He shrugged. "We weren't expecting civilians." At her surprised look, he met her eyes. "The guy had a new. . .uh. . .group of people there, and he was. . . .Anyway," he said as he shook his head, "it made things harder to deal with."

"Are those people okay?"

"SHIELD is getting them back to their families." He sighed. "Thanks for letting me just be here."

Courtney smiled at that and looped her arm through his. "I'm glad you _want_ to be here."

They stayed in front of that window for a long time, sipping coffee and not talking. For Courtney, it was enough.

oOo

The next morning, Clint headed for the shooting range rather than the gym. He typically liked to work out first thing, but he needed to shoot things. Spending the previous day with Courtney had helped in a way he'd not expected. She saw the world through innocent eyes, sympathetic and compassionate to the plight of others but not caught up in the problem as the problem-solver. Clint appreciated that, and he knew she had questions. But, not for the first time, she'd reigned in her own curiosity in favor of letting him decompress. Just like after he'd told her of Loki, she provided a safe presence and a listening ear.

Last night, he'd expected the dreams to come. But he hadn't anticipated that they'd blend with his memories of Loki to change what had happened on the mission into a dream so severe he had a sore throat from shouting. He woke in the mood to just put arrow after arrow into a target somewhere.

Clint wasn't sure how long he'd been in the shooting range when he sensed her enter. But he knew he wasn't alone and glanced over his shoulder to find Courtney looking somewhat uncertain. She wore the same expression he'd seen on her face when she interrupted him at the lap pool, but he couldn't find it in himself to swagger and cause her blush to deepen. Not today. Instead, he offered a genuine, if tired, smile. "Come in."

Her gaze roved over the bow he'd just set aside and then flew back to his. "I'm not interrupting?"

Clint glanced at the target. "No." He pushed the button to bring the thing closer so he could retrieve his arrows. "What's on your mind?"

She shoved her hands in her pockets as she watched him work. "I was. . . .I mean, I just. . . .Nothing."

That made him smile. He understood just how hard it could be to articulate his feelings, so seeing someone else have the same problem actually helped him feel a bit better.

She shook her head at herself. "Is this target practice a daily thing?"

"Sometimes." He decided to be brutally honest. "When the dreams get to be too much."

Her expression fell. "Clint, why didn't you call?"

"You needed your sleep."

She cut him off with a glare. "If you insist I call you when I have a horrible dream, you should do the same for me." She shrugged. "I might not understand, but I can listen. And make hot cocoa from a packet."

Clint actually laughed at that. "Hot chocolate has kind of become a thing, hasn't it?" His smile faded, and he let out a deep breath. "Honestly, Courtney, I couldn't talk. Sometimes, they're so bad I. . . ." He met her eyes. "The apartments are soundproofed for a reason."

She winced. "How bad is the throat?"

"It's getting better."

She gave him a sheepish expression. "I wake up crying sometimes." When he opened his mouth to talk, she held up a hand. "What I'm saying is that I have my things I don't like people knowing about, either. I get it."

He stared. She really did get it. Maybe not _all_ of it because he hoped and prayed she'd never go through a fraction of the horrors he'd experienced, but she really understood.

Then, he chuckled. "You know, I'd thought about bringing you down here, but this isn't what I had in mind."

Just like that, the heavy atmosphere changed and lifted slightly. "What did you have in mind?"

He grinned. "Teaching you to shoot." At the somewhat panicked expression on her face, he crossed the room and took her by her shoulders. "Not a bow. A gun. Something that I thought might help you a little with things back in Texas. But if you're not ready, we don't have to stay."

"Is it a good idea? Me learning to shoot a gun?"

"Probably." He saw the conflict in her eyes. "But not today. And, if it doesn't happen before you go back to Texas, I'll teach you one weekend I'm out there."

She sighed. "I don't want to go back." She looked around. "This place is amazing, and you—all of you—have been so wonderful with me here. Is it selfish to want to stay here instead of going back where I'm by myself?"

"You have your sister and Marcy."

"Who have their own families. I want to go back to see them, but it's not the same." Courtney shrugged. "Here, it's. . .it's different. Yeah, Natasha and Steve are dating, and Stark and Pepper have their thing going on. But. . . ." She met his eyes, almost desperate for him to understand. "I wish I could explain."

Clint pulled her into a hug and simply held her for a moment. The mere action of comforting another, particularly Courtney, helped with the unspent energy coiling in his gut. He'd had rough missions before, things that affected his ability to sleep. It was part and parcel with the job. But he'd never had another person with whom to share those thoughts. Even he and Natasha didn't often talk about their nightmares unless they got really bad.

As Courtney's arms slipped around his waist, he made a decision. "I dreamed about Loki again. He was there, stopping me from doing what I'd gone to do." He paused when her arms tightened a bit. "Courtney, it's not pretty. What I see. What I _do_. It never was." He stepped back, putting some distance between them so he could look her in the eye. "But it's all I've got. I don't know anything else besides the circus and this, and. . . ." His voice trailed off as he stared at her. She looked at him with such trust that it cut through all the excuses he'd used to keep from letting himself admit how he felt. For months, he'd known he cared, and he'd allowed himself to love her. But the thought of a permanent relationship, something that could last beyond just a few months, had always been pushed aside in favor of the latest crisis or adventure or visit to Texas. But, at that moment in the shooting range, everything changed. She trusted him, even knowing what he had done and what he did for a living.

And he made a decision.

"I don't have an easy life, Courtney." He spoke softly now, wanting everything to come out just right. "At any time, I could go on a mission and be captured or killed or severely injured. Loki proved staying home and doing security doesn't mean I won't run into trouble. You're pretty special to me, and I love what we have together. I think we have something that could last, but I don't want you going into this blind. I know people who've done that in the past, and the last thing I want is for you to be blindsided by something you weren't prepared for."

She frowned. "Clint. . . ."

"I mean, if we start this, you'll be a target." He kept talking in spite of the way she sad his name. "My enemies could target you and your family—if they don't just because you were at the memorial with me. SHIELD does its best to protect its assets' families, but there's always the chance something could slip through. And that's just my enemies. There's also the Avengers to think about, though I doubt they'll have much of a problem with us."

"Clint. . . ."

"You need to be aware of what I face personally. I'd love to make this that we have between us so much more, but. . . ."

"_Clint!_" Her sharp voice cut through his frantic words. He blinked at her, and she put a hand on his face, a smile playing around her lips. "Shut up."

He blinked, his gaze dropping to her lips and then back to her eyes. "You're sure?"

"That I can handle what you face? Not yet." She shrugged. "That I want to try because this dancing around each other is driving me insane? Yes."

Clint's smile slowly spread across his face. He tugged on her elbow, pulling her closer as he kissed her. It was incredible. He slipped one arm around her waist as hers went around his neck, and he kept the kiss intense but not demanding. Neither of them were ready for physical intimacy yet, but having this thing between them firmly defined gave them a foundation they hadn't had before. For the first time that day, he felt the tension vanish, and he was suddenly beyond thankful he'd answered that first "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" letter.

oOo

Courtney held still for the first few seconds, certain she'd wake and find she was dreaming. Then, Clint slid his arm around her, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss, and she realized it was really happening.

And the man could kiss! After he pulled her close, she forgot everything about her situation, his life, his job, her need to go back to Texas, and anything that did not include this moment right here. He seemed to put every bit of the intensity that defined him into the kiss, and it took her breath away.

She didn't come back to herself until she heard Stark's voice from the door. The billionaire had been chattering away about something, but what broke through the fog was a startled curse. Then, Stark started babbling. "Whoa! Legolas! Put a sign up or something. I mean, sheesh. Didn't want to see _that_!"

Clint had pulled away the moment Stark's voice reached his ears, but he held Courtney's gaze as he smirked. "Stark?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Hey, you finally got off your tail and got the girl," Stark replied. "It's about time. Now, pay up."

Courtney blinked at that last bit, and she turned to find Stark and Bruce standing next to one another, wearing opposite expressions. Stark was gleeful with his left hand held out to the other man, but Bruce looked thoroughly embarrassed.

Clint kept his arm around Courtney's waist, not letting her go. "You _bet_ on us?"

Bruce pointed at the billionaire. "_He_ bet on you, and I didn't take the bet, Tony."

"Doesn't matter anyway." Stark waved the protest aside as he walked further into the room. "If you two lovebirds are done making out in here, we could use this room for what it's intended to be used for."

Courtney's mouth flapped. "We were not. . . ."

Clint's arm around her waist tightened. "Don't try arguing, Sweetheart," he said soft enough that Stark missed it. But Courtney heard what he called her, and she turned to blink at him as the endearment washed over her.

Stark took that as confirmation of what he'd said. "You were making out, but that's okay. Just. . .move along to some place more private." He finally held up his right hand to show an obvious prototype of the Iron Man's gauntlet. "Otherwise, you'll get interrupted again."

The blasé way that Stark handled the whole situation made it somewhat worse in Courtney's mind. And better. At home, Marcy would have grinned suggestively at her, and her sister would have fussed about her nephews seeing them. But Stark had simply accepted it as fact. She found herself relaxing as Clint pulled her out of the shooting range and into the elevator, where he promptly resumed stealing her breath for the ride up to their floor.

The elevator dinged as the doors opened, and Courtney laughed lightly. "I could _definitely_ get used to that!"

Clint grinned at her. "Good." He laced their fingers together. "Now, how about we track down Rogers and Natasha, see if they're up for a little field trip, and visit the city? There's a few places you haven't seen yet, and only a few more days are left."

Courtney's heart fell a bit at the mention of her impending departure. Clint saw and tugged her closer to him. "Hey. Think about it this way. You'll see a _lot_ more of me now."

"Good." She smiled. "And that sounds like a fantastic idea."

The shadows in his eyes had fled, and he gave her another bright grin before stopping at her door. "Go get ready," he said after a third, equally intense kiss. "I'll call Nat and set things up."

The four spent the day at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where Natasha showed a surprising interest in art while Steve simply absorbed what the paintings said to him. Clint and Courtney used the time to chatter and act like teenagers, and, by the time they all returned to Stark Tower, she'd realized that she couldn't have asked for a better man. When he kissed her goodnight and told her to dream well, she felt shivers go down her spine and, not for the first time, wondered just what she would have done if her nephew had never written that first letter.

~TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** A huge apology for not getting this posted yesterday. My entire family came down sick this week-me included-so things have been a bit muddled here.

**Cara:** LOL! Yes, they took a huge step forward. And you'll find out soon enough. Now that Courtney's adjusted somewhat to Clint's life, it's Clint's turn to adjust to her's. Because, in any relationship, it's a two-way street.

Part of this chapter was inspired by a comment by **Qweb**, who pointed out a flaw in some of my writing. So, I've used the flaw to make a story point._  
_

As always, hope you all enjoy! ~lg

oOo

The day before Courtney's return to Texas, she found herself at loose ends yet again. Clint worked out every day, and she refused to interrupt him in spite of his insistence that she do so. Her reasons were two-fold. He was training for a very real, very deadly job, and she honestly didn't think she'd make it more than thirty seconds before she started staring and drooling. The last few days had changed their relationship even more than coming to New York had, and she loved having him so close. While their kisses were intense, he didn't try to move beyond that level of affection, and he often kept things subdued even when they were alone. Somehow, he realized she wasn't ready to take that next step, especially not with her return to Texas so close.

Instead of dwelling on it, she turned on the laptop Stark had given her and logged in to her email. She'd stayed in contact with Marcy throughout her trip, telling her friend anecdotes of her time in New York and keeping quiet about Clint. They'd spoken by phone once, but Marcy's life had become wrapped up in her daughter. Courtney missed her Goddaughter terribly, and she honestly did look forward to spending time with them in person. She just wished it didn't mean leaving Clint behind to do so.

Her email included an e-vite to a farewell dinner that night in the penthouse, and she shook her head. For all of his cantankerous ways, Stark really did care about his friends. She responded that she'd show up on time—with Clint in tow—and turned to the email from her best friend in Texas.

The knock on the door interrupted her daily dose of "Brianna did this," and Courtney regretfully went to answer it. Marcy had included a short video she'd taken on her phone, making the email even more enjoyable. Courtney's smile faded, however, when she opened her door and found none other than Nick Fury standing on the other side. The SHIELD director wore his typical black leather coat and clothing, holding a tablet and file in his hands as he met her eyes.

Instinctively straightening, Courtney swung the door the rest of the way open. "Director. Come in." She waited while the man strode into the room and looked around. Clint had spoken of him in recent days, most notably to warn Courtney that she could receive a visit from Fury. But she had no idea whether to offer the man coffee or just wait for him to speak.

Fury solved the problem for her. "I'm here because Agent Barton followed protocol for once."

Courtney couldn't help the grin at that. Clint had also warned her that he'd reported the change in their relationship to SHIELD, apparently something instituted to protect their assets' families. Now, she motioned to one of the chairs. "Please, have a seat."

Fury stepped around the white couch and settled on the edge of one of the chairs, making him seem a little less intimidating. He still looked completely out of place, a massive African-American man wearing all black in an apartment designed around the color white. He waited until Courtney perched on the edge of her own chair to offer the file folder. "I assume that Agent Barton has spoken with you?"

"About why you're here?" Courtney took the folder but didn't open it yet. "He said he had to report the change in our relationship and had done so."

Fury didn't show any kind of reaction to that statement. "That folder outlines our policies concerning the loved ones of our highest assets. Agent Barton is one of the best SHIELD has to offer, and we like to keep him happy. If that means keeping you alive, then we're willing to do so." He narrowed his one eye slightly. "How are you coping with Agent Barton's career?"

Courtney blinked at the man. "If you mean, am I okay with the fact he's an assassin, then I don't have an answer for you. I realize it's what he does, and I accept him. I'm learning that his job has some drawbacks, but that's not enough for me to simply walk away. Going from a bank account manager to girlfriend of an Avenger and assassin is a little. . . .You can't just swallow that pill all in one go. It has to be taken in chunks."

Fury actually smiled at her words and then indicated she should open the file. "In there, you'll find more than just our policies. Several months ago, when Agent Barton told you about what happened with Loki, you were granted security clearances." He sobered even more. "Ms. Bauer, this change in your relationship with Agent Barton has bigger consequences than any relationship you've ever been in. SHIELD has already assigned an agent to monitor you in Amarillo, keeping an eye out for threats and problems that may arise. At any time, you could be pulled from your life and sent to an undisclosed location for an indeterminate amount of time. Nor will you be allowed to tell your family what is happening. Now, I wish Agent Barton had spoken with me before presenting you to the world as his date for the memorial, but that's part of the past. I am more concerned about your future."

"Do all girlfriends and boyfriends get this speech?" Courtney asked when he paused.

"No." Fury stood and paced to the window. "Your circumstances are a bit unusual. Most of the time, friends and family members don't know their loved ones' true affiliation. Only in the last year, with news of SHIELD's involvement in the attack coming out, has common knowledge of the organization spread. We like to keep things as quiet as possible, and I trust Barton's judgment when it comes to you. He asked for you to be given security clearances for his state of mind, and we granted it. That gains you an inside view of what's happening. Otherwise, all you'd know is that you'd been hired for a handsomely paid consulting job if we ever needed to get you to safety."

Courtney stared at him. "Oh."

That seemed to amuse Fury. He nodded to the paperwork in her hand. "Please read that thoroughly, Ms. Bauer. I'll be here until you've either agreed or disagreed."

"And what happens if I disagree?"

The look Fury gave her was a mix between sad and blank. She turned back to the file, forcing her mind to focus on what it told her. Most of it was a nondisclosure agreement, outlining what she could and could not say in regards to SHIELD and its operations. It informed her of her security clearances, which were surprisingly high considering what Clint had told her of his life, and also listed the security precautions being taken. Her life and family's lives would be monitored from now on, not in a creepy, stalker way. SHIELD simply wanted to make certain that nothing happened to distract Clint or cause him to make a stupid decision concerning to her safety.

More than a touch disconcerted, Courtney stared at the last page while she thought. Clint meant the world to her right then, and the idea of going back to Texas while he stayed in New York had already been working on her. But this. . . .She wanted to run and never look back. But doing so meant she'd leave him behind. She had no doubt that, if she refused to agree to Fury's demands, Clint would find a way around protocol. That was Clint. But it also left her wide open to threats. Fury was right about the memorial, even if Courtney hadn't thought things through at the time. She'd seen Clint as needing her there just to get through the day, and he had. Fury had seen Clint parading her in front of the cameras and painting a target on her back. Odds were good Clint thought about that later, hence why he'd followed protocol and why Fury was hovering near her windows, looking out on New York and seemingly lost in thought.

This was Clint protecting her, keeping her safe and watching out for her when he couldn't be there. If for no other reason, Courtney turned to Fury. "Do I sign this file or somewhere else?"

Fury gave her a genuine smile this time. "Both. We are a government agency, Ms. Bauer. We require everything in triplicate."

She rolled her eyes. "I work at a bank. I'm used to paperwork."

Within ten minutes, she'd signed and dated everything that needed to be signed and dated. Fury thanked her and, after she walked him to the door, Courtney let out a deep sigh of relief. The man was intimidating, but he cared for his agents. Brutal, maybe, but effective. His method of informing her of the SHIELD tail she'd have from now on had been blunt and somewhat scary. Granted, anything Nick Fury said would be scary.

That evening, she tried to shift gears for the farewell party in the penthouse. Courtney stood in the closet, her eyes roaming over the few outfits she'd brought with her and trying not to cry. In twenty-four hours, she'd be back in Amarillo and have to send Clint away again. That realization had settled in more and more as the day progressed, and she'd spent time with Natasha in the spa just as a way to try to relieve the melancholy. Clint had been around, but Fury's visit that morning resulted in more than just paperwork for Courtney. Natasha had explained that even Clint had to sign the agreement, smirking when Courtney fussed that their lives were just a bunch of paper.

Now, she settled on the tailored white top and jeans that had completely distracted Clint the morning after his first mission while she was in New York. That day, she'd hosted Natasha for tea, the two women plotting to help Pepper get a pair of spurs, but she'd caught the way Clint had looked at her. And after the change in their relationship, she wanted to see that reaction again.

Dressing carefully, she pulled her hair into a messy bun with a few strands hanging around her face. Clint loved to run his fingers through the ends of her hair, but she refused to wear it down when going to a dinner like this. Stark's idea of a "small dinner" was likely a huge party of people she didn't know. Then, she frowned at herself in the mirror. While he liked to act as if he didn't really care, Stark knew what each of the people living in his tower liked and wanted. He wouldn't throw Courtney into the deep end of the pool just yet. At least, she hoped he wouldn't.

Clint knocked on her door twenty minutes after she finished dressing. She'd thought about packing, but it made her want to cry every time she did, so she left the suitcases put away for now. Her boots thunked on the tile floor as she walked across it, and she couldn't stop the grin when she opened the door. He wore a pair of relaxed fit jeans, boots, and a gray-blue button-down that matched his eyes. With the shirt untucked, he looked casual but oh-so-amazing, and Courtney knew immediately that her plan to distract him had succeeded. He opened his mouth to say something, took a few seconds to check her out, and then grinned. "You look great."

She snorted. "It's just jeans and boots."

He pulled her into his arms, dropping his hands to rest comfortably around her waist. "On the right woman, jeans and boots can be deadly. _You_ are the right kind of woman for that."

Courtney wrapped her arms around his neck. "And here I thought you didn't give compliments."

"Oh, I give them." Clint stepped away and, after pulling her door closed, took her hand to lead her upstairs. "I just needed to find the right woman."

She rolled her eyes at the cheesiness of their conversation but couldn't bring herself to stop flirting. In the elevator, she leaned against him and laughed when he acted as if her shoulder had knocked the wind out of him. He asked about Fury's visit and then chuckled when she visibly shuddered.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Stark, Pepper, and Bruce. Thor and Jane, though staying in the Tower, hadn't been seen much since their arrival. Courtney knew they'd done some traveling as Jane showed Thor a bit more of Midgard, as he called Earth, but she'd hoped to spend a little time with the only non-human member of the Avengers. Besides, what few moments she'd had with Jane after the memorial told her that she would get along well with the other woman.

Steve and Natasha appeared shortly after Clint and Courtney, not holding hands but both standing a touch closer than normal. Stark insisted everyone take a drink, whether water, tea, or something stronger. Clint took one beer and sipped at it for the next few hours, while Natasha chose a glass of pinot noir. Steve stuck with water, and Courtney asked for her favorite: iced tea.

The conversation flowed around the room, the group congregating around the kitchen where Pepper was finishing up the dinner. She'd insisted on cooking, and Courtney tried to help. But she'd been told in no uncertain terms that this dinner was for her and to get out of the kitchen and let Pepper do the work. Stark said it, but the apologetic smile Pepper gave her told Courtney that both of them felt the same way. So, she gracefully returned to Clint's side on the other side of the bar and tried not to glare in mock irritation when Natasha's help was gratefully accepted.

The conversation didn't halt as the meal was served and the group settled in the living area to eat while looking out on New York. Courtney stared out the windows, trying to absorb the view and take part of it back with her. She wished she'd thought to take pictures of her time here, but most of it had passed in a haze. Either she was too busy being selfish or irritated, or she was distracted by Clint.

He nudged her arm, pulling her back to the present. "You okay?"

She blinked. "Yeah. Just. . . ." She realized the rest of the Avengers were looking at her. "Really don't want to go home."

Clint nodded, as did Bruce, but Stark spoke. "You can always come back. I mean, I've got plenty of room in the tower, and another person isn't going to change that. Besides, Legolas is happier when you're here, which is a plus."

Clint turned to the billionaire. "That's because I have a distraction to keep me from hurting you, Stark."

"Yeah, you say that," Stark replied. "But I have yet to see any harm come my way."

Clint's eyes glittered dangerously, though his grin told everyone he wasn't completely serious. "I have my ways, Stark. And not all of my methods include physical pain."

Stark turned to Courtney. "You gotta come back. Distract him or whatever it is you do!"

Courtney laughed at the near desperation in his voice, knowing that Clint wouldn't harm Stark unless Stark sincerely deserved it. "I don't know when I'll be able to come back, honestly. I used up the last of my vacation time on this trip."

Stark snorted at that. "I'll cover it if that's what you're worried about. Besides," he continued as he glanced at Pepper, "I was thinking about buying a bank someday."

Pepper rolled her eyes. "No."

"What?" Stark pointed at Pepper. "Did she just say what I think she said?"

Courtney shook her head. "With all due respect, I like the bank I work at belonging to the people it belongs to. You buying it would make you my boss, and, sorry, but I just can't see that."

Stark went on to protest her words, but Courtney saw Pepper mouth "Thank you!" behind the billionaire. A moment later, after babbling a little more at Steve and Bruce, he looked back to Courtney. "So, buying the bank is out. Vacation is out, at least for a little while. What if I do something like—I don't know—proposing to Pepper? Would you come back for that?"

A shocked silence dropped over the room, broken only by Clint choking on his water—he'd finished off his beer a while back and refused another—and Pepper's startled "What?!"

Stark turned to his girlfriend. "You know, I had something else planned, but I know you like things quiet. So. . . ." He shrugged. "I thought the best place for this would be with our friends." In front of all of them, Stark slid off the couch, dropped to one knee with only a slight wince to indicate it wasn't the easiest move to make, and pulled a telltale blue box from his pocket. Pepper's eyes went round as he held it up and said, "Pepper, will you marry me?"

Courtney watched, transfixed, as Pepper nodded and then said a happy "Yes." She couldn't help thinking that she and Clint might be headed in that direction, but she refused to reach for his hand or even look at him for fear he might think she was hinting at something and panic. The last thing she wanted to was to make him panic. As it was, Steve was giving Natasha a thoughtful look, one that would have made any woman wonder what he was thinking. The Black Widow stared back, neither giving ground or taking it.

Once the multi-toned ring was on Pepper's finger, the gathering dissolved into congratulations from the men and hugs for the women. Pepper rushed to show off her ring to Natasha and Courtney. The ring's band, set with diamonds, seemed to wrap around a single large stone, smoothly transitioning from yellow to white gold and giving it a sparkling, unique look that was subtle and significant in some way. Of course Stark picked something that was outrageously expensive, but he'd also taken Pepper's natural modesty into account. News of their engagement would likely hit the media before Courtney arrived home. Bruce finally finished congratulating Stark and offered Pepper a hug, as did Clint, and Courtney watched with a smile on her face. The Avengers were a family, not a team like the media portrayed them, and she felt almost like an outsider for a bit.

Then, Stark moved to her side. "So, you'll come back?"

Courtney grinned. "Yes, I'll come back." She watched Clint head her way and smiled at him.

He stopped next to her as Stark let himself be dragged back to Pepper's side. "You ready to go?"

Courtney looked over Clint's shoulder at Stark and Pepper wrapped in each other and nodded. "Yeah, I think I am."

Clint turned as if to make their goodbyes, but no one seemed to be paying attention. Steve and Natasha were talking in a corner, while Bruce had already slipped out. Stark and Pepper were disagreeing with one another, though the laughter in Pepper's eyes told everyone she wasn't angry. Clint shrugged as if it didn't matter and led Courtney to the elevator.

Once back in her apartment, her happy expression faded. Upstairs, it had been easy to ignore her imminent departure and pretend everything was fine. Once back, she had to face packing and saying goodbye in the morning.

Clint surprised her by wrapping his arms around her waist. "Why don't you stay the night at my place?" he asked, and then his eyes widened slightly. "Not like that," he rushed to clarify. "Just. . .watch movies or sleep on the couch wrapped in that afghan or. . . ."

Courtney chuckled at the mention of the afghan. "Where did you get that thing?"

"Natasha." Clint shrugged. "She took up knitting after Loki as a way to cope, I guess, and that was her one and only project."

Courtney blinked. "Natasha knits?"

"She used to."

"Well, it's still a nice afghan." She sighed and looked around. "Okay. But I have to pack sometime."

He didn't argue or disagree with her, showing her just how well he knew that their lives were meant to be separated at the moment. Courtney hated the level of emotion she felt and tried to blink away the tears that gathered in the corners of her eyes. But she failed because, by the time they reached Clint's apartment, her throat was clogged. He didn't ask what was wrong or even try to make it better. Instead, he tugged her down onto the couch, tucked her under his arm and adjusted the afghan around her before turning on a movie.

They spent the night watching movies and wishing the next day didn't have to come.

oOo

The following morning, Clint allowed Courtney to slip into her apartment to pack for her trip home. He wanted to be there with her, but she'd said she needed to do this on her own. They'd spent the entire night awake, hardly talking and dozing every now and then. Both of them knew their time from now on would be precious, and Clint suddenly wished he'd let Courtney know how he felt about her long before the shooting. Maybe she wouldn't be flying across the country to take up a life that was so distant from his.

She didn't want to leave. He saw that in her eyes as she gave him one last, sad smile before closing her apartment door. But Clint knew she _needed_ to leave. The two weeks in New York had done wonders for her mindset after the shooting, but she still faced a few nightmares in Amarillo. Thankfully, their time wasn't completely over. He'd already made arrangements to fly back with her and spend at least three days. Returning to work would be tough, and he wanted to be certain she was on firm footing when he came back to New York.

Thoughtful and nursing a slight headache from exhaustion, Clint went back to his apartment and straightened the living room. They'd dug into his stash of chips and snacks as the night progressed, and he smiled as he folded Natasha's afghan over the back of his couch. The Russian spy had spent hours struggling to do something she had never done and, in the end, had given up on it as suddenly as she'd decided to take it up. She'd marched into Clint's apartment, dropped it on his couch, and promptly forgot about it.

With a flight that afternoon, Clint decided to take a nap. He didn't need much sleep, but the emotion that Courtney had showed just that morning told him it was best to prepare. So, he slipped into bed and managed to get three hours before he needed to pack for his own trip.

How did he feel about Courtney going back to Texas? Besides not liking it? He'd never been given to introspection or great displays of emotion, but her departure was doing funny things to him. His chest clenched as he realized he'd again be hours away by plane, unable to do anything besides talk to her on the phone if something went wrong. But his thoughts went deeper than that. He liked having her over late at night, being able to take her to lunch on a whim, and knowing she'd be there when he returned from a mission. Even if she wasn't fully comfortable with his job yet, she'd shown that she accepted the inevitability of it, and she had an instinctive sense for when he just needed to have someone else around.

With these and other thoughts in his head, Clint carried his bag to where Courtney had already begun saying her goodbyes. She shook Steve's hand, hugged Bruce, shocked everyone by hugging Stark, and promised Pepper to be a bride's maid in the Stark wedding. Then, to Clint's utter amazement, Natasha pulled Courtney into a long hug and told her to take care of _him_. Courtney laughed lightly, but her eyes showed that she understood what Natasha had just done. His partner had just passed the torch, so to speak.

All too soon, Clint escorted Courtney onto Stark's plane and watched while she dropped into one of the seats. He stowed their bags and then settled next to her, reaching over to take her hand when she didn't respond to his presence. She laced their fingers together and then sniffed once. "Sorry."

Clint frowned. "For what?"

"Crying." She glanced over at him, the tears she'd barely held back sparkling in the sunlight coming through the windows.

Clint nodded, running his thumb along her knuckles. He didn't have anything to say because he didn't want her to leave either. But commiserating right now wasn't what she needed.

They stayed like that as they taxied down the runway and the plane took off. No further conversation passed between them because, as soon as they leveled out, Courtney leaned against Clint's shoulder and promptly fell asleep. Once he was certain she wouldn't wake, he gently laid her on the couch, covered her with one of the blankets Stark kept in the plane, and headed for the cockpit. Whenever he flew, he didn't take the flight attendants that Stark required, and he usually acted as copilot for Stark's regular pilot. The other man greeted him with a smile, and they spent the first few moments of Clint's time in the cockpit just catching up. Eventually, they fell silent, and Clint took over flying somewhere above Ohio.

The mundane nature of the flight allowed Clint to think, and he needed the space today. The emotion that swirled through him was surprising, but not so much as he'd anticipated. He'd been slowly getting used to it over the last several days. Neither he nor Courtney were ready for anything more than what they'd already shared, but he hated having her so far away. His biggest problem right now was how well he would cope when the next mission came about and she wasn't there.

Several hours later, the cockpit door opened, and she stepped through. He reached for the headset in the copilot's seat, and she tugged it over her ears. "The pilot said you'd be up here."

Clint smiled at that. "He just likes getting paid to read."

She chuckled. "That's what he said." She carefully slipped into the copilot's chair. "I didn't know you could fly."

Clint shrugged. "Part of SHIELD's training. Came in handy a few times when I needed to get us out of a tight spot." He peeked over at her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry about earlier. When I'm tired, I get weepy." She offered a crooked smile. "Thanks for coming back with me."

The plane was already on autopilot, so he turned to meet her eyes. "I told you I'd get you through this whole thing. I'll be there for several days. And any time you need me, just call."

To her credit, she didn't point out that it wasn't going to be the same. Instead, she sighed and shook her head. "It feels like the shooting was so long ago, but it's only been a couple of weeks. Almost three."

"What changed?"

She shrugged with one shoulder. "I think meeting the rest of your team, getting to know them, and things with us."

Clint agreed those were all good reasons for change. "When we get back, it's going to seem more real. Especially tomorrow."

She nodded. "Yeah. I'm dreading going back to work."

He looked over the instruments, double-checking their altitude and flight path. "I'll go with you, if you like."

"Just be there in case." She shifted in her chair. "Director Fury brought up a good point yesterday, and I really don't want a lot of fanfare."

Clint frowned. "What did he bring up?" When she didn't answer, his frown deepened. "Courtney?"

"The memorial." She glanced at him. "It's okay, and it probably would have happened anyway. But it got me to thinking about how things will change now that we're. . .together."

He heard the hesitation over that last word and reached for her hand. "We're definitely together, dating, whatever you want to call it. One day, I hope it'll be more. For now, let's just get through this." He sent another smile her way. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Good." Releasing her hand, he took the plane off autopilot. "Now, want to have a go at flying this baby?"

The panicked expression on her face was priceless, and Clint found himself laughing. Over the next hour, he gave her quick instructions on flying the jet, even letting her give it a try. When he took back over, she gratefully took her hands from the controls and declared that _he_ could do the flying from now on.

The rest of the flight passed in quiet conversation as they chased the sunset and mentally prepared for the next stage of their lives.

~TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** First of all, I apologize for the late posting. This sinus whatever-it-is really knocked me on my behind, and I'm finally able to think clearly. I like to keep at least one chapter ahead, so I don't post, say, Chapter 10 until Chapter 11 is written. I'm loving the rewrite, and I'm glad everyone is, too. It's just taking a bit longer.

**Cara:** All questions will eventually be answered. There's a ways to go for these characters, though, as issues keep cropping up. :) So glad you're enjoying the story!

All that said, hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Clint and Courtney arrived in Amarillo late and thoroughly exhausted. After renting Clint's favorite black pickup truck, they drug into her apartment and glanced around. The place had the feel of neglect even though she'd cleaned it out before leaving. The counter was piled with mail that her sister picked up for her, and she felt tension in her shoulders evaporate immediately. Even if it meant being seventeen-hundred miles away from Clint, it was still home.

Clint stood in the living room while she took her luggage to her room. When she returned, he was still in the same place. "I'll be back tomorrow before work."

Courtney frowned at him. He might have been a trained spy and able to survive on minuscule amounts of sleep, but she didn't want to put him through that. She glanced around. "Stay here." She motioned to the couch. "It's more comfortable than it looks."

He smiled at that. "I've slept on that couch before."

"I know."

"Thanks, by the way." He walked over to her and pulled her into his arms. "For not telling Natasha about that."

She draped her arms around his neck and smiled. "You're welcome." A moment later, a massive yawn split her face as he laughed. She buried her face in his shoulder until it passed and then jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm gonna. . . ."

"Yeah." He let her go and slipped out of the apartment to get his bag from the truck. By the time she'd dressed for bed, he had returned and quietly bid her goodnight. Courtney fell asleep almost immediately and slept soundly until morning.

She woke in the best way she could imagine. After hitting the snooze button three times, she felt Clint sit on the edge of her bed. She opened her eyes as he leaned one hand over her to push into the mattress near her hip. A smile came to her face. "Hi."

"Morning." He grinned. "As much as I'd love to let you sleep, you'll be late."

Courtney glanced at the clock and then sat up suddenly, nearly cracking Clint's head in the process. "How. . .? I thought I set the alarm!"

He stood and let her gather her wits. "Get ready. We'll get breakfast on the way."

She watched him leave the room, enjoying the view, before pushing back the blankets and darting for the bathroom. Then, she took her time to dress carefully while she considered her day.

How did she really feel about going back to work? The last time she'd been at the bank, she'd been so traumatized that she couldn't even walk into the building. Now, she planned to waltz in there as if nothing happened. _Yeah, right,_ she thought. _I just hope I get past the door._

Once dressed, she found Clint waiting for her. He'd already folded the blankets he used the night before, and he handed her a travel mug of coffee. He'd made it sweet today, and she stopped herself from shaking her head. They'd managed to go from friends to something a whole lot more than simply dating in less than two weeks. She liked the domestic feel of their relationship even if she was fully aware of what Clint did when he left for a mission. The little things, like coffee, came second-nature to him, and she realized he enjoyed having another person in his life besides his partner or team.

They stopped for breakfast on the way, as Clint had promised, and then Courtney forced herself to eat half of it. The closer they got to the bank, the stronger the memories. By the time Clint pulled into the parking lot, he'd reached over to take her hand, drawing her attention from the building to him. "Want me to walk you in?"

She smiled slightly. "No." A quick glance at the door made her shake her head. "I need to do this by myself."

He accepted with a slight squeeze of her hand and then parked. "I'll be here if you need me."

"All day?" She blinked when he chuckled. "Never mind. Dumb question."

He leaned over to lightly kiss her. "Valid question," he said quietly, his eyes telling her that he'd stake out the bank if she felt it necessary. "But I'm gonna find a hotel and touch base with Nat. We've got a mission planned for the week after I get back, so we'll do most of our prep work via secure telecom."

Rather than asking what the mission was, she chose to look back at the bank doors. She knew why he told her that. He'd given her the opportunity to ask about his mission, and she decided it was time to trust him. She didn't like his job in the least, but she liked—perhaps even loved—_him_. And he needed her trust.

Taking a deep breath, she pasted a brave smile on her face as she turned back to Clint. "I'll be off at five-thirty," she said, her breath catching as it always did when he stayed so close to her.

"I'll be here." He kissed her again and then leaned away, letting her open the door. "After dinner, we can go over to your sister's if you want."

"That sounds great." She stepped out of the truck and then froze. What did she say? The typical "Love you" didn't apply—yet—but a simple "'Bye" wasn't appropriate either.

Clint saved her from the moment. "I'll see you later."

Courtney finally turned from the truck and started walking toward the bank. Like before, her mind filled in the fire lane with ambulances and firetrucks, the sirens echoing back to her. She swallowed, focusing on the one opening that had, thus far, defied her. Then, someone else—a loan officer—entered the bank while calling out a surprised and delighted greeting. Courtney lifted her hand to wave to him as the phantom ambulances faded just a touch. The blood-soaked tile at the opening had been cleaned, the grouting showing only a slight change in color to indicate it had ever been anything but gray. Inside, voices floated around the large room, echoing in Courtney's ear. By the time she reached the threshold, the memories had given way to reality.

Looking over her shoulder, she found Clint still sitting in the truck, watching her with a serious expression. He looked ready to jump out and rush to her rescue, but it faded when she smiled. Lifting her hand, she waved, drawing an answering smile from him as he put the truck in gear and drove away.

Now that she'd made it into the building, she felt a little silly for taking so long to come back to work. Turning toward the break room, she jumped when her phone rang. Pulling it out, she smiled when she saw the text from Clint. _Call me if you need anything._

_I will._ Her response lacked the warmth her voice would have, but his concern was beyond touching. She could hear him speaking in that rough tenor, hoarse from sleep as he smoothed her hair back after a nightmare. Those nights spent on his couch had helped her in a way that she couldn't put into words, and just having him in Amarillo meant she wasn't completely alone.

The break room was another hurdle to get over, though of a different nature. The moment she walked in, the other account managers surrounded her, welcoming her with hugs and questions about her trip to New York. Laney, one of the tellers, grinned at her. "So, how's that Avenger of yours?" When Courtney stared, she shrugged. "What? You're _glowing_. And your picture was all over the news as Hawkeye's date to the memorial. I figured something happened while you were in New York."

"Not what you think." Courtney dropped into a chair. "Yes, I went to the memorial with him. I stayed in Stark Tower, and I spent most of my time with the Avengers. And they're real people. Not celebrities. They all have their jobs."

"Whatever," Laney said with a roll of her eyes. "I wouldn't mind havin' one of them come my way. That Steve Rogers. . . ." She mimed fanning herself.

Courtney resisted the urge to roll her eyes in response. "Captain Rogers is just a normal guy, and he's taken."

"He is?"

"Yep."

"By who?"

Courtney glanced at her watch, purposefully ignoring Laney. "Time for work."

The day passed like any other Monday after that. News of Stark's engagement to Pepper hit around noon, and Courtney smiled quietly as she thought about the upcoming wedding. Stark and Pepper wouldn't wait forever, and she hoped to have that very legitimate excuse to head back to New York before the summer's end. Thankfully, the news sidetracked Laney from quizzing Courtney about _every_ detail of her trip—and Clint—and she breathed a sigh of relief when five-thirty finally came. Walking out of the bank, she immediately spotted Clint's truck and headed that way.

He grinned at her from the driver's seat. "Good day?"

"Okay day." She buckled her seat belt. "If I _ever_ complain about Pepper or Natasha being dramatic, remind me of Laney."

Clint burst into laughter. "Natasha? Dramatic? Only when she's undercover."

"Good!"

After pulling into traffic, Clint reached over and took her hand. Courtney smiled at him and stayed quiet for the trip back to her apartment. Once there, Clint waited while she changed into more comfortable clothes, and then he tucked her back into his truck for dinner and the visit to her sister's. Dinner was at Hausler's, his favorite place in Amarillo, and Courtney warned him that her sister might go a little overboard when she figured out the two of them were actually dating.

At the Staterson house, Clint parked his truck next on the street, and Courtney had barely made it onto the curb before the screen door slammed open. Jeremiah dashed outside, his face lit up. "_Hawkeye!_" he yelled as he ran.

Courtney stood next to the truck as Clint greeted her nephew, feeling a little bit of Tony Stark's sassiness coming on. "What am I? Invisible?"

Jeremiah hurried to her side. "No." He hugged her tightly. "I missed you, Aunt Courtney."

With those five words, Courtney's heart melted. As she met Clint's eyes over her nephew's head, she could honestly say she was glad to be home.

oOo

Clint saw the change in Courtney the moment she laid eyes on her nephew. The tension she'd been carrying slipped from her shoulders, and she finally relaxed into the embrace. At the house, Josiah appeared, trying to be a bit more grown up in how he greeted Clint but hugging his aunt just the same. The smile Courtney sent his way told him he'd done the right thing in bringing her tonight.

Dana, Courtney's sister, stood in the doorway, watching the reunion. She also hugged Courtney and then smiled at Clint. "Thanks for helping," she said quietly as Jeremiah and Josiah started chattering and distracted Courtney.

Clint shrugged. "No problem."

And, just like that, he was absorbed into the family. Dana insisted on getting him a glass of tea, and Clint found himself perched on the edge of the couch talking with Cole, Courtney's brother-in-law, while Courtney watched her nephews play video games. He'd met all of them before, but things were different now. _He_ was different. He wasn't just visiting a friend's house for a few minutes but spending time with his girlfriend's family. That put a whole new spin on how he viewed Dana and Cole.

Before he could figure it out, Jeremiah appeared at his side and grinned. "So, can I?"

Clint blinked. He had absolutely _no_ idea what the boy meant. Then, behind her nephew, Courtney mouthed the words "Uncle Clint," and he remembered the letter he'd received the day of the memorial. The one he'd never responded to. He propped one hand on his knee. "I guess that's up to your parents."

Jeremiah's hopeful eyes turned to his father. "Dad? Can I call him Uncle Clint?"

Cole sighed heavily as if it was a great stress to think about it, drawing a laugh from his son. "I _guess_ so," he said, putting emphasis on the second word.

Jeremiah whooped and then grabbed Clint's arm. "Come play with us."

Clint glanced over at the game and shook his head. "Oh, no." He tugged his arm out of Jeremiah's grip. "You do want to win, right?"

Courtney put her hands on her nephew's shoulder. "Clint's really good with guns," she explained as she led her nephew back to the target practice game.

Clint supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that the family had no problem with the idea of guns. They did live in Texas, after all. And the game the boys were playing was a circus-type things with moving targets and clay birds. Not a first-person shooter. But it still did funny things to him to see children that young starting to use weapons. For much of his life, he'd wished he could have ended several things in his childhood, but this. . . .These were Courtney's nephews. They had good lives and a great family who cared for them. Why did they need to learn to use guns?

They didn't stay too late since school hadn't let out for the summer yet, and Clint was quiet as he drove Courtney back to her place. She was tired. He could see the exhaustion edging her eyes and, not for the first time, wished he could do something about it. At her apartment, he walked her to the door and then smiled. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will." She gave him a smile that melted his insides, though he didn't tell her. "Same for you."

He leaned in and kissed her, long and slow. Her hand came up to rest on his chest, and he couldn't stop the smirk when he saw the blissful expression on her face as he pulled back. Instead of commenting, he let her go into the apartment and shut the door.

Clint spent his second evening in Amarillo with Marcy and her family. He didn't begrudge Courtney her friends, but he started to feel a little crowded when Marcy insisted he come to dinner with Courtney. The evening passed relatively well, the only hiccup being when Marcy plopped little Brianna in Courtney's arms. The baby was only a couple months old, aware of her surroundings but very much an infant. And seeing Courtney cuddling her Goddaughter and smiling did something to Clint.

That night, as he drove back to his hotel, he allowed his expression to shut down as he tried to think clearly. What was he doing? Yes, he loved Courtney, and her family was awesome. But she wasn't SHIELD or any kind of law enforcement. She would eventually want to get married, have children, and live in a nice house. He couldn't offer her that and had tried to tell her many times. She'd simply accepted his words and moved on.

But what happened when _he_ started wanting those things? Seeing her with Brianna had started his mind down a path that he'd avoided up until now. This thing with Courtney had begun as a half-considered idea of friendship, but it had morphed into so much more. He had never dreamed a woman like her could ever come to care for him, look past his history, or see him as more than a murderer. But she had. Even more than that, her family had accepted him, and her friends looked on him as a hero. He'd never wanted to be a hero. Just a good man.

These thoughts kept his mind busy for most of the night and into the next day while he and Natasha finished up their planning for their mission. Doing things long-distance like this wasn't the most efficient way of planning an op, but this wouldn't be the last time it happened. It was the nature of their lives. Clint managed to focus for most of it, drawing only minor glances from Natasha rather than outright questions.

That evening, Courtney followed him to the rental place to turn in the truck and then drove him to the small airfield SHIELD had co-opted for their use. A Quinjet waited for him, the back hatch down and Natasha likely on board. Clint climbed from Courtney's car, seeing the expression on her face. This was it. This was where their lives went back to being on opposite sides of the nation when both of them really wanted something else. He walked around the back of her car where she'd opened the trunk so he could grab his bags.

Courtney smiled up at him as he pulled her into his arms. "Be safe," she said softly.

"You too." Hidden from view by the open trunk, he kissed her, taking his time to do it correctly. "I'll call you when I'm back."

She smiled. "You'd better." Then, her smile faded. She wanted to add another admonition to stay safe, and he could see it in her eyes. Instead, she stepped out of his arms and handed one of his bags to him—his bag that held his bow. Clint sent her a thankful smile, and, after closing the trunk of the car, walked to the Quinjet. Natasha sat inside in the copilot's seat, the SHIELD agent assigned to fly her out to Texas already gone thanks to Stark's jet still waiting in a nearby hangar. Clint slipped into the pilot's chair, did his preflight checks, and then smoothly lifted the Quinjet into the air. He turned the plane slightly and saw that Courtney watched, her hand lifted in a wave as the residual wind from the jet caused her hair to fly around her face. She had never looked more beautiful.

Natasha waited until they'd left Amarillo's airspace behind to speak. "So, things went well."

Clint smirked at his partner, hearing the not-so-subtle dig for what it was: a friend's concern. "Yeah." His smirk faded to a frown.

Natasha caught it. "What?" When he blinked at her, she rolled her eyes. "You're staring at the instruments as if they're going to jump up and attack you. What's going on?"

Clint debated even bringing up the subject that had, until now, plagued his mind. He had so many issues in his own past, and the most recent one was a real doozy. But he'd somehow managed to pick himself up and recover from Loki, just like he'd recovered from his parents' deaths and the orphanage and the chaos at the circus. If things went south with Courtney, he didn't know if he could pick himself up from that. "What are we doing, Nat?" he asked quietly. When she raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, "You and Steve. Me and Courtney. Honestly. What are we thinking?"

Natasha grinned. "That's easy. We're not."

He glared at her. "You're always thinking. How many times have you turned down other agents because of things the Red Room did? Or because of the job? It's a fact of life for people like us. _We_ don't get happily ever after."

She studied him, her eyes dropping to where his hands gripped the controls of the jet with surprising strength. "What's this about, Clint?"

He saw how she looked at his hands and deliberately loosened his grip. "Last night, Courtney's best friend invited us over for dinner. And I. . . ." He swallowed harshly. The memory of Courtney laughing as Brianna played with her hair was a powerful one, though not because it was her Goddaughter. In that moment, he'd realized he wanted _everything_ with Courtney. The house, the family, the American dream.

"Clint?" Natasha's quiet voice told him he hadn't continued explaining.

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said with a touch of frustration in his voice. "I just wonder if this is such a great thing I've got going here. Or if I should. . . ."

"Walk away?" Natasha eyed him. "You do that, and you'll destroy her world."

"I stay, and I might do that anyway."

"But you'll never know if you run."

"I don't run, Nat."

"You would be this time." She shifted in her chair. "Clint, think this through. Up until now, you've been alone. Yeah, you had me and Coulson, but we're not the same. Courtney's a reason to come home. A reason to keep fighting. You've made more progress since January than you did in the previous eight months. Why?" When he didn't answer, she sighed. "If you give that up, you're an idiot."

Clint slanted a glance toward her. "What about you and Steve?"

"What about us?"

"Nat." The warning in his voice clearly told her not to be coy.

"Steve and I are dating. Nothing more. Nothing less. Do I want more with him? At times. But he's from another time, and I have so many issues to work through. I can't just jump into a steady relationship with him, and he accepts that." She met his eyes. "Just like Courtney accepts that your job is dangerous and you might not come home one day. Does she like it? No. Does that mean she'll walk away? If she was going to, she would have the day I showed her Arriola's file."

The two stayed silent the rest of their flight into Siberia. They'd been sent to look into a suspected HYDRA base, and Clint found himself inordinately happy that it turned out to be some sort of home-grown terrorist organization intent on taking Russia down. At least he didn't have to deal with one of the world's biggest threats with his mind so taken up with Courtney and their relationship. Once he arrived back to New York, he picked up his phone and immediately called her, the tension fading the longer they talked. And, when he hung up, he realized something.

He stood in his kitchen, looking at the apartment Stark had assigned specifically for him, and suddenly understood that, without Courtney, he wasn't at home.

~TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **I really do apologize to those of you who were looking for this chapter over the weekend. My life suddenly got hectic, and I had a hard time finding time to merely think. Also, I did a bit of research into the various SHIELD agents depicted in the show, so Agent Sitwell looks a little different than most times. I went with how the Marvel movies had him look. And there is a bit of comic book canon in this and upcoming chapters.

**Cara:** I am really glad you like the way I write. Some of the best writing advice I ever got was from my brother-in-law. He said, "Always have a reason." I try to do that, and I try to give meaning to each chapter. It's just that Courtney and Clint have so many issues to work through that I can do that each chapter. :)

As always, hope everyone enjoys! ~lg

oOo

The next month passed slowly for Clint and Courtney. He flew to Amarillo every weekend, spending as much time with her and her family as possible. He'd taken to appearing at the bank just prior to closing, making her smile and blush and her coworkers roll their eyes. One in particular, Laney, asked if he had any single friends, and Clint had been uncharacteristically stumped. Of course, Courtney chose that moment to appear in the distracting green suit she'd worn the day they met, and Clint's mind had been on her. Laney huffed but grinned, not minding that he'd ignored her question.

Courtney made tremendous progress in that month, and she admitted that she rarely thought of the shooting when she arrived at work. The reminders showed up in other ways, but the anxiety and nightmares had tapered off. The missing people—Marcy and those who had been killed—provided the greatest source of grief. Clint understood. It had taken months to adjust to Coulson's absence, and he still had moments when he expected the man to just appear.

Things were quiet in New York during that month. Clint had one mission requiring his expertise, but he spent the majority of his time training new recruits. While he'd been cleared of any responsibility for his actions under Loki's control six months after the incident, SHIELD had still instituted new policies concerning compromised agents. Clint's latest job included teaching incoming agents the difference between "compromised unwillingly, whether through capture, torture, or brainwashing" and "compromised willingly because they're dumb enough to think they can hide from SHIELD." There was a more appropriate title for that second category, but he preferred his.

After one such session at SHIELD headquarters in New York, Clint received a text ordering him to report to the Helicarrier for a mission briefing. Since that day's lesson had been teaching and not practical application, he headed straight for the waiting Quinjet. Natasha appeared a few moments later, with Steve waving her off. Within the hour, they'd landed and turned toward the bridge.

Fury waited for them, looking completely unconcerned that it had taken nearly an hour for them to appear. He began speaking as they sat down. "We just received intel from our field office in Prague. A major arms deal is about to be brokered, and we don't know the players. Your mission. . . ."

". . .should you choose to accept it," Clint muttered, drawing a smirk from Natasha and a glare from Fury.

"Your mission," Fury said again with a pointed glance at Clint, "is to present yourself as one of the buyers and identify the members of this group. The goal is intel, not assassination, and you will drop out of negotiations without purchasing anything. Agent Romanoff, you'll be going undercover with one of your many identities. I'll leave the specifics up to you. Agent Barton, you're to provide back-up and surveillance."

"Yay me," Clint deadpanned as he opened the file that waited on the touch-screen in the conference table. He scrolled through the particulars that SHIELD did have, including the time and place of the meet. Apparently, first contact would have to take place at a charity event at the Clam-Gallas Palace. Clint slanted a grin at Natasha, knowing she'd found a new dress she'd been wanting to wear. She caught the grin and nodded slowly.

The rest of the briefing passed quickly, with Clint and Natasha asking few questions. They'd done this multiple times. The only real uncertainty was whether they'd ever encountered any of the buyers for this weapons deal. Either way, Natasha could easily insert herself with a little makeup, her dress, and one of the many wigs she kept for just such an occasion. Clint would fend for himself to make certain she stayed safe.

Once Fury dismissed them, he touched Natasha's elbow. "I'll meet up with you."

She saw how he pulled out his phone and didn't ask. They had three hours before wheels-up, and she had a lot of packing to do. The Quinjet would take them to New York, where they'd slip into their cover identities and fly first class from there.

Clint glanced at his watch to double-check the time and then dialed from memory. It was Courtney's lunch break, and he smiled when he heard her warm greeting on the other end. It sent several junior agents running in sheer terror because Hawkeye _never_ smiled. "It's me." He couldn't stop the chuckle. "And I just scared a couple of new kids."

Courtney snickered. "Be nice!"

"I am! I was smiling at you, and they ran away!"

"Maybe you should start smiling more."

Clint bit down on the sappy and utterly uncharacteristic comment that came to mind, but it made his smile grow even bigger. Courtney had given him a lot of reasons to smile recently, even if the SHIELD people didn't have a clue that he was truly happy and not plotting their demise. "How are you?"

"Good." She paused for a moment. "You're heading out again?"

"Yeah." Clint shook his head at how well she understood him. "It's a week-long mission, and I'm just the back-up. But it might delay the weekend plans."

Courtney hesitated, and he could see the worry that likely crossed her face. "Be safe."

"Always am." Clint refused to give her a flippant answer even if it could be taken that way. But the tone in his voice was different. He really was careful on his missions, more so since he'd met Courtney. It just wasn't always apparent to his superiors. He distinctly remembered multiple times when Coulson or another agent called him "reckless." After living in the circus, "reckless" was a relative term.

She sighed. "How long until you leave?"

"Three. . . ." He looked at his watch. "Two hours, forty-five minutes."

"I should let you get to work then." She sounded so dejected that he smiled again. It felt great to be missed before he even left the States.

"I'm packing as we speak," he said softly. And he was. He'd already gathered up the weapons he'd take with him, his quiver, extra arrows, and any ordinance the mission might require. Most of it stayed in the armory, but Clint and Nat had been given special clearance to keep a "go bag" ready should they need to ship out on an emergency mission. Now, he turned to thinking about clothes. The only thing he really had on the Helicarrier other than two pairs of jeans and undercover clothes was his SHIELD issue black cargo pants, t-shirts, and jacket. "When I get back, I'll have a week of down time since the mission's so long. Any way you can slip away for a long weekend?"

"Um. . . ." She drew out the word. "I don't think so. We're closed for the Fourth, which means more work when we get back."

Clint closed his eyes and silently cursed. He'd forgotten about the Fourth of July, something Jeremiah had been supremely excited about. Now, he'd miss the fireworks display. "Courtney, I'm so sorry."

"Clint, it's your job." Her tone said she didn't want to argue but had a point to make. "I accepted that when we became friends. Why should it change now?"

"Because." He had so many reasons. _Because you're more important. Because I promised. Because I love you._ That last one had been a closely guarded secret in recent days, and Clint knew he'd have to tell her soon. But over the phone before he left on a dangerous mission wasn't the time.

She snorted. "That's not an answer, but I'll take it." She heaved another sigh. "Jeremiah's going to have to get used to it. Just don't miss important things like birthdays. The family will never forgive you for that."

"I'll do my best."

"Go to work, Clint." Her tone had shifted back to its normal good humor. "I'll hold down things here while you're gone."

He regretfully hung up and stared at the wall for a moment. He'd been looking forward to the Fourth of July for several reasons. The Avengers had planned to go to Amarillo and surprise Courtney's family. It was Stark's idea, and Clint had done nothing to discourage him. He'd made plans with Courtney and her family, knowing they'd be thrilled at the extra guests he brought. Now, all those plans went down the drain along with his own desire to just relax for a bit. Granted, he hadn't done much in the last month, so this mission would work out some repressed aggression anyway.

Figuring nothing could be done, Clint sent a quick text to Stark that the Fourth was off due to work, and then he finished packing. At the last minute, he grabbed one of his tuxedos in case he couldn't get a line of sight into the ballroom from a rooftop. He hated wearing the thing, but Natasha needed him able to protect her. At the Quinjet, he wasn't surprised to see Natasha carting a couple of very nice suitcases behind her. They were a pair that SHIELD spent a lot of money on because they got results. Clint had several _very_ expensive tuxedos in his closet for when he had to go undercover, in addition to ratty jeans and dirty jackets, and Natasha had recently spent more than her year's salary on two dresses alone.

The pair was quiet for the flight back to New York, both of them going over the mission file and getting geared up for the job. Clint took a few moments to mentally put Courtney into a box and shove it away. She would always be with him, but thinking about the disappointments of the last few minutes would do nothing for his state of mind.

Nearly twenty-four hours later, Clint and Natasha landed in Prague and left the plane as Christelle D'Aramitz and Dominic Trask, a wealthy French woman involved in gun running and her British representative. Speaking in an accent came naturally to Clint after all these years, and he played the part of "Christelle's" employee perfectly. Once they'd arrived at the extravagant hotel, they dropped the act and scanned the room for listening devices. Then, they set up frequency jammers so they could continue planning and freely discuss their work.

Natasha finally started yanking out the pins holding on her blond wig. "I hate these things!"

Clint smirked. "You're the one who chose to wear it."

She simply glared over her shoulder.

The next several days passed in a haze of parties and shopping trips for Natasha and hours spent on rooftops for Clint. He followed at a distance when she didn't want him there and became Dominic when she did. By the time they finished their overview of the area, they'd determined that Clint did have a line of sight into the ballroom at the Clam-Gallas Palace, and Natasha had secured an invitation to the event.

The evening of the ball, Clint lounged on one of their room's comfortable beds while watching Natasha get ready. She'd already showered and now wore a dressing robe that fell to just above her knee while she did her makeup. The transformation from Natasha Romanoff into the Black Widow, whoever _she_ decided to be, always intrigued him. He'd seen Natasha get ready for events as herself, and she never went to the same trouble. Tonight, she wore colored contacts that turned her eyes a startling blue to go along with the blond wig, and the dress she'd chosen to wear would only draw attention to them.

When she huffed, Clint rolled his eyes. "Nat, you look great. Always do." He said those last two words under his breath, but she heard him anyway.

"Have you ever known me to take chances with a mission?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. She sat in front of a vanity, eye shadow tray in her right hand with the sponge to apply it in her left. Her eyes had already been given a smoky look, and she'd been perfecting the style.

She ignored the eyebrow and went back to the mirror. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

She meant it as a jab to get him out of the room, but Clint glanced at the window. The sun had begun to set and, while the gala wouldn't start for another two hours at least, he needed the twilight to get into position. Pushing off the bed with a deep sigh, he gathered his things and slipped out of the room.

Two hours later, he watched "Christelle" enter the ballroom. She'd warned him via their comms that she was on her way, but knowing and _seeing_ were totally different. While completely head over heels about Courtney, Clint could still admit that his partner was a supremely gorgeous woman. He'd long since become accustomed to seeing her in such get-ups, so he didn't have the same reaction that most men did. But he did let out a low wolf whistle on the comm that resulted in a subtle glare sent his way.

"Christelle" moved through the crowd, her floor-length gown glittering from thousands of tiny crystals that brightened the dark blue fabric to electric blue. In spite of his disdain for the color after the Tesseract, Clint admitted it was perfect for the evening. The sweetheart neckline hinted that it might fall off even though he knew otherwise, and the back dipped down to _there_ with nothing else to hold it up. Two thin straps over her shoulders were hidden by her blond curls that had been shortened to show off her back. Every step she took showed a thigh-high slit that never fully opened but left men wanting more. Her makeup accented the gown, and her shoes and jewelry didn't take away from it. Of course, Clint knew her shoes had stiletto knives hidden in the heels, but he didn't think anyone else at the party would care.

With men already following "Christelle's" progress through the ballroom, Clint settled in for the night. After spending so much time in Texas, Prague's temperatures seemed a touch cool, and he wore fingerless gloves to keep his hands warm. His bow beside him, quiver over his shoulder, he was prepared should his partner give the signal. He hoped he wouldn't need to help her.

The evening progressed predictably, with men falling all over themselves to dance with "Christelle." She finally managed to lure their target to her, and he seemed to resist her charms just as well. Through the comm, Clint heard him ask about "her lackey." "Christelle" laughed and told him that "Dominic" had found some cheap club, so she was on her own. Clint rolled his eyes at that. Before Courtney, he likely would have preferred a cheap club over the formal affair below him.

Later, Clint would wonder how things went so wrong so quickly. He'd been careful to note any potential threats among the party guests—and there were a few. But when the explosion ripped through the ballroom, Clint was literally thrown back from the shock wave. He sat up, his ears ringing, as he watched a section of the ceiling and upper stories collapse. His ears cleared in time to hear screams and cries for help. He triggered his comm unit. "Black Widow!" A moment later, he touched it again. "Black Widow, check in! _Natasha_! Respond!"

She never answered, though whether because she'd been injured or the blast had knocked out her comm unit couldn't be determined.

Clint growled, cursing as he watched security personnel start tearing into the rubble. The first bodies were appearing, torn and misshapen, their blood staining their formal attire. In his perch, Clint could only watch and pray that his partner had survived the blast. He touched his ear again, speaking to someone else monitoring the channel. "Hawkeye to Base. Black Widow is down. I repeat, Black Widow is down."

The scrape of a door behind him made the hair on his neck stand on end. He stood, an arrow already strung and let it loose, hitting the first man that came through the door. A secondary explosion below, followed by several shouts, pulled his eyes toward the drama. He backed toward the ledge, already preparing his grappling arrow for a quick trip off the roof. A second man came through the door, and Clint was unable to fire given his precautions. He started to jump, pulling the arrow from his quiver as a gunshot rang through the night. He felt the impact of it in his shoulder just as he tried to draw back his bowstring. His arrow fired, catching hold of the building, but his grip on his bow slipped. He grappled with it and the pain, slowing his fall so that he only heard one leg snap instead of his entire body as he impacted the fire escape. His momentum sent him down the stairs, and a lucky blow to his head made him want to curse in every language he knew. He did _not_ need a concussion.

Coming to a stop in a corner, Clint took a millisecond to assess his injuries. Based on the double vision, his concussion was fairly bad, but his concerns were the gunshot wound and the broken leg. The bone hadn't pierced skin yet, so he figured he could hobble along to safety. But, when he moved to stand, the pain swamped over him. It had been years since he'd broken a leg, and the combination of blood loss, pain, and concussion pushed him right back into the corner.

Boots landed on the fire escape above him, and Clint looked up in time to see a familiar face from his past right before his vision grayed and he inconveniently passed out.

oOo

Natasha coughed against the massive amounts of dust in the air. When the bomb went off, her current suitor—the very man she'd come to meet—dove to cover her with his body. Now, she'd been pinned under his considerable weight and one of the chandeliers. The crystals from the chandelier had shattered, cutting her legs and face at the same time that flying bits of stone and plaster slammed into her. She breathed carefully, already cognizant of at least two cracked—if not broken—ribs, a concussion, numerous cuts and bruises, and a partner shouting at her through the comm unit. She reached up to trigger it when a gunshot came across the open line, startling her and making her groan at the pain. She must have done more than crack those ribs if it hurt that bad.

Checking her would-be savior, her heart fell when she realized he was dead. He'd taken a piece of the chandelier to the back of his neck, and his blood—not to mention the dust and debris—had ruined her gown. Sliding backward and gritting her teeth against the glass and rubble she dragged her arms through, Natasha eased herself out from under the man, not sparing him another glance. Security was already swarming the place, and she needed to get out.

Slipping off her shoes, she headed for the door with them in her hand. They were a special design by R&D, and she refused to leave those stilettos behind. They were some of her favorite secret weapons. The shoes themselves were toast, but the knives would fit into several other pairs she currently had in her closet on the Helicarrier.

In the confusion, it was easy to make her way to the hallway. Other party-goers had already stumbled out, and she blended into them. A quick check in a mirror showed her wig was, ironically, still in place, so security didn't look a second time at a blond Frenchwoman covered in grime and blood. She stopped once outside to look around, ostensibly staring in shock at the damage. In reality, she was looking for Clint.

Reaching up to dab at a trail of blood, she triggered her comm unit. "Hawkeye, come in." She choked, the dust coating the inside of her mouth and throat. "Hawkeye, if you can hear me, please respond."

Only static came through the unit.

Natasha cursed, knowing she wouldn't be able to contact anyone, and started walking in the opposite direction of Clint's perch. She trusted her partner well enough to know he'd get out if he could. If he couldn't. . . .Well, part of the red in her ledger was from when he saved her life. She wouldn't stop until she got him back.

oOo

Steve Rogers was, by nature, a levelheaded man. Very little rattled him, and it had taken meeting and fighting _aliens_ to break that calm. After HYDRA and the war, he'd learned not to panic or show any kind of fear. So, when he arrived on the Helicarrier with the rest of the Avengers after being summoned by Nick Fury, he was surprised at the emotion that slammed into him when Hill immediately ordered him to the infirmary.

He found the place in a complete state of chaos. Nurses cringed as they tried to go about their duties while one voice in particular shouted at the top of her lungs. Steve headed that direction and walked through the open exam room door in time to see Natasha fighting with her doctor. "I _said_ I'm leaving! Now get off. . .OW!" She grabbed the man's hand as he injected her with some sort of syringe and twisted. "You should _know_ that won't work on me!" she growled.

Steve blinked. Natasha wore jeans and a hoodie, the zipper low enough to show she'd simply thrown it on with nothing underneath. Her red hair was covered in gray dust and grime, cuts had bled down her neck, and she kept scowling as if fighting a concussion. As she continued to twist the poor doctor's wrist, Steve figured he needed to intervene. "What's going on here?"

Natasha glared at him, and he caught the message loud and clear. She did _not_ want a hero right now. "Barton's missing, and these _idiots_ seem to think I'll stay here while the rest of the team goes to get him!"

Steve took a second to absorb that bit of information. Clint Barton was so highly trained and experienced in his life that the Avengers often forgot he was merely human. Even Natasha had an advantage on him, having been raised in the Russian Red Room and receiving their twisted version of a Super Soldier serum. She'd explained it to him a little over a week ago, her eyes showing a vulnerability few saw as she broke the news that she'd never be able to have children of her own. Steve had taken that as a sign of her trust and kept it quiet, knowing most doctors didn't have access to that bit of information.

Now, he raised his eyebrows at the doctor, a man who _did_ know about the serum. "Doc?"

The man grunted in pain, and Steve glared at his girlfriend. "Nat, let him go." Normally, Barton used the nickname, but Steve had latched on to it early in their relationship.

Natasha huffed but released the doctor.

The man stumbled back from the bed as she yanked the syringe from her arm and tossed it on the floor. She began pushing back the covers and sitting up as the doctor spoke. "She's got several severe lacerations and contusions, two cracked ribs, one _broken_ rib, and a pretty severe concussion. Not to mention possible hearing damage from. . . ."

Steve held up his hand. "Doc. This is the _Black Widow_," he said, emphasizing her code name. "She'll be fine. And, even if she's not, she'll tear your medical bay apart."

Natasha glared at the doctor as if to say, _Told you so._

The doctor glanced back and forth between Natasha and Steve. Steve waited, knowing the man would come to the same conclusion he had within minutes. Sure enough, he finally heaved a deep sigh. "Fine. I've already set that rib, and it should start mending on its own. Agent Romanoff, I'll release you _only_ if you agree to play back-up to your team." He paused while she nodded innocently and then continued, "Captain Rogers, I'm asking you to keep an eye on her."

Steve nodded immediately. "Deal."

Within ten minutes, Steve walked out of the medical bay with a wincing, limping Black Widow at his side. He wanted to offer an arm to lean on, but he knew the gesture wouldn't be received. As it was, he blinked in shock when she spoke. "Thanks." Her voice was pitched pretty low.

Steve smiled. "You're welcome."

She frowned up at him. "I'm not playing back-up. He knows as well as you do that I'll be fine once I'm able to sleep a bit on the jet back to Prague."

"I know." Steve also sighed. "He knows your file, but others don't. Be prepared for some questions."

"I am."

"Good. Now, tell me what happened so we can go get Barton."

Natasha grinned and batted her dusty eyelashes at him. "You say the sweetest things!"

oOo

The Fourth of July proved to be a rough day for going to the park. There were so many people out that day that Courtney and her family chose to stay in and barbeque on the grill. She spent most of it wishing Clint was there but also praying he was okay. He rarely called during his missions, so she didn't expect him to do so this time. Besides, he was due home either Friday or Saturday, and everything would be okay. If she didn't handle this now, how could she handle anything longer? Like any other military or law enforcement girlfriend, she simply needed to cope and move on.

Jeremiah surprisingly understood why Clint hadn't been able to come. He'd been disappointed, yes, but he asked if they could save some of their fireworks for when Hawkeye did appear. Courtney looked in askance to her sister, and Dana indulgently agreed. She liked Clint, anyway, and had no problems with her son wanting to include Courtney's boyfriend.

Friday evening, Courtney left the bank and drove to the park that Jeremiah and Josiah had chosen. The summer days lasted well past the end of work, and they'd agreed an evening trip for the boys to throw a football while the girls chatted was just what they needed to relax. Courtney, however, struggled with her disappointment the entire way to the park. She'd hoped to see Clint swagger into the bank like he always did, tired from his mission and simply wanting to spend a quiet evening with her. Instead, she clocked out and never saw him.

Had something gone wrong? Or was the mission just taking longer? She understood why he couldn't call, but the not knowing drove her insane some days.

At the park, Dana picked up on her need to just be quiet, so her sister didn't try to engage her in conversation. It was somewhat uncharacteristic for Dana, but Courtney refused to complain. Jeremiah hugged her when she explained that Clint hadn't been able to get home yet, and her two nephews dragged her laughing brother-in-law to the open grass with a football.

Dana glanced her way. "No word?"

"Nothing." Courtney ran her hands over her face. "I've got to deal with this."

Dana nodded. "When Cole was overseas, I stayed busy. Got involved with volunteering at the library just for something to do. It helped the time go, at least."

Courtney shook her head. "He was supposed to be back tonight or tomorrow. I guess I had my heart set on tonight."

Dana gave her a wry look. "He works for the government. They'll give him back when they're ready."

Courtney snorted her agreement but didn't fuss when her sister shooed her away for a walk. The family had chosen Medical Center Park for their evening, and she gratefully headed for one of the walking paths.

She noticed the man about five minutes later. Dressed in civilian clothing, he seemed unassuming save for his very purposeful walk in her direction. Courtney thought about everything Director Fury had told her and considered running the opposite direction when he moved the conspicuous jacket he wore to show her a badge. Her footsteps came to a complete halt as he finally reached her. He stood well over six foot, was African-American, and was completely bald. But that's where the similarities to Nick Fury ended. His brown eyes showed warmth. "Ms. Bauer?"

"Yes."

"I'm Jasper Sitwell. Director Fury sent me to take you into custody."

Courtney's heart jumped into her throat. "Is it Clin—I mean, Agent Barton? Is he okay?"

Sitwell hesitated to answer, which told her everything she needed to know. She pressed a shaking hand to her lips as she glanced over her shoulder and saw several other SHIELD agents herding her family toward a van. Her nephews looked ecstatic while Cole and Dana sent concerned glances her way. Sitwell touched her arm. "They're being sent on an elite tour of Europe, including several exclusive locations that most are normally not allowed to visit. They'll be kept moving, kept busy, and kept safe."

Courtney turned to the man beside her. "And Agent Barton?"

Sitwell shook his head. "I'm sorry. I'm currently not at liberty to discuss that, but I can tell you that his team is working on the situation." He started leading her toward a small SUV with tinted windows. "My orders are to get you to ground and make certain you're still alive when Agent Barton gets home."

"And where are we going?"

He grinned. "Ever been to Vancouver?"

"Canada?"

"Know of another Vancouver?"

Courtney rolled her eyes as she slipped into the SUV. Clint and Fury had both warned her this might happen. She'd just hoped it was because someone came after Clint while he was _home_, not missing. She'd managed to put that together from what Sitwell wasn't saying, and the worry that had been lingering in her mind all evening exploded in a swell of nausea that sent her scurrying for the bathroom as soon as Sitwell tucked her onto a plane. He watched from his seat until she waved away his concern.

Finally, as the nausea eased, Courtney rinsed her mouth and took her seat. She would be okay. She _would_ come through this for Clint. And she _would_ be waiting when he got home, no matter what had been done. She could do no less for the man she loved.

~TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** So, I started this chapter no less than five times before I got it right. Hence why the long wait for Chapter 11. But it's here now, and you'll be happy to know I finished this story! Yay! You've only got this chapter and two more, but I hope you'll continue to enjoy them. Also, I apologize for posting so late. Was very, very busy today, but it is still Friday where I'm at.

**Cara:** I would really love to know who your idea was for who took Clint. So I hope you let me know after this chapter.

Hope everyone enjoys the chapter! Fair warning: Clint is held captive, but the torture is short and a bit different. Also, there is some comic book canon in here. ~lg

oOo

Clint woke sprawled on a bunk so narrow his leg and arm hung off the edge. He groaned before he even opened his eyes, trying to find it in himself to move the shoulder now wrenched out of position. His head ached, and the room spun when he simply blinked at the ceiling, telling him more about his predicament than he cared to know. He was cold, and his protective uniform had been taken from him, leaving him only the black sleeveless shirt he wore beneath his suit. He still had his boots, as evidenced by the tightness around the ankle of his right foot where his broken leg had swollen to the limits of the boot and beyond. But he doubted he still had any of the weapons he'd secreted on his person when he left Natasha at the hotel.

Natasha! Clint's eyes flew wide open, and he tried to sit up to check if his partner was there. Instead, he barely got his head off the pillow before nausea overwhelmed him, and his shoulder screamed at him for not treating the bullet wound. A quick and _very_ painful check proved the wound was a through-and-through, which meant it should heal up with very little effort on his part. Provided it didn't get infected. His biggest problem right now, besides his injuries, was his lack of information. The moments after the explosion were blurry in his mind, and he couldn't be sure he hadn't conjured the image of his captor.

Sitting up a bit slower, Clint groaned again. The nausea made a reappearance, and he blinked back the spots in his vision when he carefully dropped his broken leg to the floor. He hated concussions. And bullet wounds and broken bones. While he was listing things he hated, he figured he should add unexpected explosions, not knowing if his partner survived, cold prison cells, and bad guys who might or might not be carrying a twenty-year-old grudge.

Clint breathed through the pain, leaning against the cold concrete wall and allowing it to keep him upright. He'd been in this cell far too long if his skin was cold to the touch. Moving slowly, he pulled his injured arm across his chest and held it in place, hoping to minimize any further damage to the shoulder wound. He needed to get his boot off his foot and to elevate that leg, but he just didn't have it in himself to even try right then. Besides, he really liked these boots, and it seemed a shame to lose one.

It had been years since he'd broken a leg. Ribs, arm, fingers, nose. . . .Those were painful, but not like this. He couldn't be certain how much damage had been done to his leg and if he could even walk. Add in the broken ribs, concussion, and bullet wound, and he was in _fantastic_ shape.

Shaking his head at his sarcasm, Clint wondered how long it would take SHIELD to find him. After Loki, he'd insisted on having a passive/active tracker implanted in his back. The device remained passive, not transmitting the slightest signal, until someone at SHIELD activated it. Even then, it managed to slip under most frequency detectors thanks to some Stark tech that the billionaire had provided. Granted, he didn't know it was going into _people_ rather than _planes_, and neither Clint nor Natasha felt the need to inform him. Even she hadn't been happy when Clint suggested it, but he'd needed to know that SHIELD had a way of tracking him should Loki ever become a problem again. After one rather explosive—and therapeutic—visit to the sparring mat, she'd come to see his side and had agreed to have her own tracker implanted. Fury hoped it would help the pair avoid lengthy captivities, but Clint knew better. Most of the bad guys he and Natasha dealt with used unique technology. He just prayed it didn't bring the wrath of his captor down on him if—_when—_Fury activated the thing.

Unbidden and not surprisingly, Courtney's face flashed through his mind. Clint wondered what to tell her family. She had clearance to know about most of his missions, and she'd realize something was wrong the moment the panic button was hit, but Cole and Dana didn't have security clearance. How would he explain what had likely happened the moment SHIELD discovered he'd been compromised again? How would he pass off these injuries?

The door to his cell opened, yanking him from his thoughts, and Clint pushed Courtney from his mind. A guard carried a folding chair into the cell and set it up, stepping back in time to allow a thin, wheezing old man to totter into the room. Clint studied the newcomer as he straightened on his bunk. While up in years and obviously very ill, the man commanded the respect and fear of his guards. He glared at the guard for holding out a hand to steady him, and Clint held back a smirk. If this guy hadn't been holding him captive, he might have liked him.

Then, the man faced him, and the years fell away. For a millisecond, Clint wasn't an experienced SHIELD agent and member of the Avengers. He was a frightened fourteen-year-old boy running for his life as his mentor tried desperately to kill him. In the chair, Jacques Duquesne grinned. "So. You do remember me."

Clint schooled his features into the same hard stare he gave every other captor he'd ever faced. "You made it hard to forget."

Duquesne laughed, and it turned into a cough. "You haven't changed, Hawkeye. Still just as cocky now as you were back then."

Clint glared, not rising to the bait. "What do you want, Duquesne?"

"I already have what I want. You and the Black Widow led me right to him." Duquesne grinned. "Imagine my absolute delight when I realized the _assassin_ sent to take out my target was my very own protege. I could finally have an old debt repaid." He coughed again.

Clint latched on to the cough. "You don't look so good."

Duquesne laughed again. "So you want to offer medical care in exchange for your freedom?" His smile disappeared. "There's nothing that can be done, my dear boy. The best doctors in the world can't fix this. All I want is to know that the one debt I'm owed is paid before I die."

Clint forced himself to stare right at Duquesne. He liked to think his circus days were over, that he'd left all that behind when Coulson recruited him into SHIELD. Only Natasha knew the truth. Some betrayals in his past had never fully healed. Some things were still tender and likely would remain so. "The way I remember it, Duquesne, _you_ tried to kill _me_."

Duquesne didn't blink. "This time, I won't fail." He stood. "Make no mistake, Hawkeye. You _will_ die before me. However long that is depends solely on my health. And, right now, I don't feel so well." He turned to the door, pausing to wheeze and then continue, "Though, I should thank you. Because of you, I had to broaden my horizons. I wouldn't be where I'm at today if not for you." He left the room then, the guard taking the chair with him. And Clint understood.

Duquesne was after revenge. Years ago, when he was fourteen, Clint had stopped the Swordsman from making off with the circus's money. Because of that, Duquesne had obviously harbored a grudge. He was now dying, and he intended to make Clint suffer as much as possible before the end.

oOo

It took ten hours for Fury to locate Barton, the team to plan the op, and their plane to get there. Natasha slept much of that time, her body regenerating itself as she did so. Steve knew it chafed to be kept from planning and did his best to speak up for her. He understood Natasha in a way that very few ever did, and she would do whatever was necessary to get her partner back. Thankfully, the rest of the Avengers agreed with her, even if Stark did try to start a few arguments over the trackers.

Courtney was never mentioned during the planning once Fury assured them that she and her family had been placed in protective custody. They all knew the stakes Barton faced when he came home, and none of them needed to worry about how his girlfriend might react. In the end, Barton would be alive, or there would be a lot of very angry people—and one big green monster—looking for revenge. Steve refused to consider that option, however, and he decided he'd do whatever was necessary to get Clint _and_ Courtney through this latest hiccup in their lives.

By the time the team arrived at Barton's location in Ostrava, a city in the Czech Republic near the border of Poland, the pent-up tension had already started several squabbles. Steve felt more like a babysitter than a team leader and, when Stark began another round of "We should have known about the tracker," glared at the billionaire. The plan was simple, and they all knew it. The majority of the team would go in and get Barton, bringing him to Banner and the other SHIELD medic waiting on the Quinjet. As far as plans went, it wasn't brilliant, and Steve pushed aside a sliver of worry. In the time that Barton's tracker had been active, he hadn't moved. His captor either wasn't interested in keeping him out of their hands or had no reason to fear. Which could mean Barton was already dead or the man holding him hostage had nothing to lose. None of them could really know. SHIELD had dispatched a surveillance team right away, but they hadn't been able to deduce who this might be or what weaponry he or she was using. In the end, it came down to guts and the need to rescue their teammate. As he stepped off the Quinjet, Steve hoped it would be enough.

oOo

After Duquesne left the cell, Clint forced himself to objectively assess his situation. He'd been in worse conditions before and had managed to survive. He just needed to hang on until Natasha got there.

_If_ Natasha got there. He hated the idea that is partner had been caught in the explosion and injured or worse. Hated it to the point he had refused to think about it until now. But what if she wasn't able to get out and warn SHIELD that he'd been compromised? And what about Courtney? Not for the first time, Clint realized the foolishness of starting a relationship with a civilian. If he didn't make it back, if he made it back severely wounded, if Duquesne got to her, if. . . .The list grew with every moment.

Taking a deep breath, Clint cleared his mind and focused only on his initial problem. He needed to get his boot off his foot before the swelling cut off circulation worse than it already had, splint the leg, and elevate it. Unfortunately, he had only his hands and willpower. Everything that could be used as a weapon had been removed from the room. Grinding his teeth, he reached for his boot and began loosening the ties. It hurt like nothing else had since being taken over by Loki, but he managed to breathe through it. Removing the boot, however, got the better of him. He finally gave up when he wanted to shout from the pain. His hands shook, partially from the agony in his ribs and shoulder and partially from his leg. And he had all he could do not to flop down onto the cot and lose consciousness.

He'd drifted for an unknown amount of time when the door to his cell opened. Clint blinked in the fading light of the afternoon, thankful for the high windows that at least allowed him to tell time. He'd managed to prop himself onto the cot so that it supported his leg and put as little pressure as possible on his shoulder. He could do nothing for his ribs.

Two guards stomped into the room and hauled him to his feet. Clint groaned as they jostled his injuries, not giving them the satisfaction of hearing him react more than that. The entire time they dragged him through corridors and down a flight of stairs, he ground his teeth together and focused only on staying alert. He couldn't do much, but he didn't need to lose consciousness and leave these idiots to their fun.

Down the stairs, to the right, and then through another set of doors, Clint found himself in a living room of sorts. Medical equipment lined the walls, and Duquesne sat in a comfortable chair smoking a cigar. Clint rolled his eyes at the cliché and couldn't stop another groan as he was dropped unceremoniously on the hard concrete just shy of the Persian rug. Another man hovered at the edge of the room, this one wearing a white lab coat.

Duquesne took another drag on his cigar and blew smoke toward Clint. Seeing the way Clint's eyes darted to the cigar and back, he laughed. "You would think I'd learn seeing I'm dying with lung cancer." He took a few more moments to savor the flavor, obviously enjoying it while Clint struggled to at least sit up. Finally, he frowned. "You don't look so good, my boy."

"I'm fine," Clint growled, having finally gotten himself upright.

Duquesne tilted his head to one side. "You sure?" He waved at the man in the lab coat. "Take a look at my young friend here."

The lab coat stepped forward, his eyes vaguely apologetic. He performed an agonizing examination through Clint's pants leg at a seemingly slow pace and then turned to Duquesne. "Based on what I can tell without an x-ray, it appears to be a clean break of the tibia, though I can't be certain of the damage," he said in an accented voice. "I should be able to at least set and splint the bone, however, once I remove his boot."

Duquesne nodded at that. "Do it." When the doctor stood and headed for a tray of instruments, including a syringe of what must have been painkillers, he held up his hand. "Without the medications."

The doctor swallowed once and then, after slowly returning to Clint's side, met the prisoner's eyes. "I am so sorry."

Clint lowered himself onto the ground. "Just do it quick, doc." He ground his teeth together again, ignoring the soreness in his jaw, as the doctor loosened his boot laces even more. Then, he ripped the boot from his foot.

Clint's scream of agony echoed through the complex.

oOo

Steve and Natasha made quick work of the guards that met them, his shield and her guns slicing through them with little effort. Stark took flight, the Iron Man suit an impressive sight to almost anyone, and proceeded to blow a hole in the wall of the complex. Thankfully, they weren't there to be stealthy, and Bruce wished them luck while he waited from the safety of the Quinjet.

Inside the complex, Thor and Stark went one way while Steve and Natasha headed another. Steve kept an eye on her, seeing the way she favored her ribs when they were alone. It didn't slow her down, and he decided to trust her to know when she'd had enough.

They hadn't gone far when the shout of agony echoed down the corridor. Natasha spun on her heel, taking off at a dead run and leaving Steve to catch up. He called for her to slow down, and she did. . .marginally. Once he reached her side, however, she skidded around a corridor and stopped to listen again. Steve waited, knowing she was hoping for another hint to Barton's location.

She wasn't disappointed. The second shout tapered off in a way that suggested Barton had cut himself off and was trying to get through the pain. Natasha continued through the corridors, taking turns that Steve never saw coming and ultimately bringing them to a staircase that led down. Two guards were ready for them, drawing their sidearms only to have their weapons knocked out of their hands by Captain America's shield. The Black Widow took the guards out before Steve could get close, and she took a few minutes to breathe through an obvious stab of pain.

Steve touched her elbow. "You okay?"

She nodded.

He let her lead the way down the stairs. Down here, it looked more like a home than a prison or warehouse facility. Guards attacked them, but they also walked on long rugs covering the concrete floors while paintings lined the hallways. The doors opened into dining rooms, meeting rooms, and bedrooms, all of them richly appointed and showing that this wasn't just a base of operations.

Then, Natasha found a room filled with swords. She froze in the doorway before cursing and picking up one of them. Steve watched as she examined it, her eyes narrowed before a second Russian curse exploded from her mouth. He frowned. "What?"

She showed him a small mark in the hilt, so tiny it would have been mistaken for decoration. "See this? It tells me who made this sword. And who has Clint."

Steve's eyebrows rose. "How?"

"He has one with this mark, from his circus days." She set the sword back in its place. "Before he was trained with the bow, he was taught by a guy known as the Swordsman. Jacques Duquesne. He and Clint have a rough history, something Clint will have to tell you. But suffice it to say Duquesne has probably been carrying a grudge for over twenty years."

Steve stared after her as she walked out the door. He'd known Barton grew up in the circus just from the man's file, but it wasn't something he tended to talk about unless harassed by Stark. Even then, he typically mentioned it in such a way to amuse everyone else while scaring Stark into silence. Since it worked every time, Barton hadn't seen a need to change tactics.

Now, Steve trailed after Natasha, her knowledge of Barton's history giving them a slight advantage. The shouts of pain hadn't repeated, but she didn't apparently need it. The guards fighting them led them straight to Barton's location. Outside the door, three more men thought they could stop Natasha and failed miserably. She stepped over their unconscious bodies and pushed into the room, not quite expecting what she saw.

Barton lay on the floor, clearly awake and sweating profusely, as a man in a white lab coat applied a crude splint to his right leg. Across the room filled with rich, comfortable furniture, an old man snatched for a knife only to have his actions stopped when Natasha knocked his cigar from his hand with one of her own knives. He raised an eyebrow at her, holding up both hands and coughing deeply. Steve hesitated, seeing how the doctor immediately scrambled away from Barton when Natasha arrived and watching the old guy. The man didn't look like he could do much damage in his state. Steve suspected he only had a few days left and had survived this long through sheer willpower.

"Wait. . . ." Barton's weak voice interrupted the tense standoff. Steve turned to see Natasha with one of her guns at the doctor's head. Barton held up a hand. "Nat, he's helpin'."

Steve went back to watching the obvious leader of the facility as Stark reported over their comms that the complex had been cleared. Natasha touched her ear, responding that she and Steve had found Barton.

The doctor returned to his work and finished splinting Barton's leg before the SHIELD agent grabbed hold of Natasha and nodded for her to pull him upright. The doctor scurried away, looking for a set of crutches while Barton leaned on his partner's shoulder. He had a bullet wound in one of his own shoulders, and the way he kept blinking his eyes told Steve he likely had a concussion as well. Still, he hopped forward, taking one of Natasha's guns and training it on the old man.

The guy snarled at Barton. "Go ahead! Pull the trigger. You'll be doing me a _favor_!" He dissolved into a fit of coughing.

Barton stared at him and then dropped the gun to his side. "I owe you _nothing_," he said in a low voice roughened by pain. "And I certainly won't do you any favors."

With a quick nod, Natasha transferred Barton to Steve's shoulders and then pulled some zip ties from somewhere on her uniform. The purely male portion of Steve's mind made a mental note to ask her where she kept them, and he watched as she hauled Duquesne to his feet and roughly cuffed his hands behind his back. Then, she performed a thorough search, aided by Barton's drifting instructions, to remove every knife the Swordsman had on his body.

Within half an hour of their arrival, Steve and Natasha led the apprehended Swordsman and a very battered Barton out of the complex and onto the Quinjet. Barton held it together until he saw that Thor had been tasked with babysitting Duquesne and then promptly thanked Banner for being there and passed out.

oOo

After four days without word, Courtney had gone from pacing to simply sitting in a corner of the couch and staring at a book for something to do. Sitwell did his best to be friendly, but she couldn't even take comfort in the idea that these people knew Clint. It was disconcerting to realize almost every part of her life was being watched, and she wished someone would just tell her something. So far, all she knew was that one of Clint's missions had gone sideways and no one would explain what had happened. Given his history, her mind filled in the blanks in all the worst ways possible and made sure sleeping wasn't an option.

Sitwell's entry into the room barely drew Courtney's attention until he joined her on the couch. She glanced up, freezing when she saw the serious expression on his face. "What happened?"

"I just heard from base." He met her eyes. "Agent Barton is back, and he's in surgery to repair a broken leg. He'll make a full recovery and should be able to transfer back to Stark Tower within forty-eight hours barring complications with his recovery. SHIELD is prepared to fly you to New York if you want."

Courtney loosened the way she'd been sitting. "He'll be okay?" she asked in a small voice. Then, she lifted a hand. "Never mind. You just said that."

Sitwell smiled, and it softened his face. "He'll be fine. I've known Agent Barton for a long time, and he always finds himself in the worst situations possible. I haven't been told the details on his mission, just that he and Agent Romanoff were caught in an explosion that resulted in the person setting the explosion taking Agent Barton captive. That man was apprehended when the team went in to retrieve Agent Barton from his custody."

Courtney nodded. Two days. Two more days until she could see Clint and determine that he was going to be okay for herself. In the meantime, she needed to consider what he would need from her. He'd worry if she showed up thoroughly exhausted, and she hated the thought that he'd take time away from his own recovery to do that.

Sitwell left her alone then, and Courtney wandered into the bathroom to take a long shower. She'd been getting by on five-minute showers, hating the idea that someone was watching her every move. With the protective layer being lifted, she could finally relax. As the water beat down on her shoulders and she thoroughly shampooed her hair, she allowed herself to think.

Clint had gotten into a situation so bad that SHIELD worried for her safety. And for her family's safety. What was she going to tell Cole? Her brother-in-law would demand an explanation no matter how much he and his family enjoyed their enforced vacation. But Courtney couldn't turn her back on Clint. She loved him too much, and her life was better. To turn her back would be to tear her own heart out. She didn't think she would ever recover from that.

With freshly clean hair, she fell into bed and closed her eyes. In two days, she would be in New York again, able to see Clint and reassure herself that he would be okay. She just needed to get through the next day before SHIELD escorted her back to Stark Tower. She could do that. And when she saw Clint again, she planned on not leaving his side until both of them were certain the other wasn't letting this whole thing change their minds.

oOo

A little over forty-eight hours after Sitwell delivered the news that Clint would be okay, Courtney knocked on his door in Stark Tower. Her arrival in New York had been delayed by her body's need for sleep. After learning that he'd made it home, she'd succumbed to exhaustion and hadn't awakened for nearly twenty hours. She hadn't slept since then, but that didn't matter.

Natasha answered Clint's door, a smile in place as the two women greeted each other. The Russian rolled her eyes. "I'm glad you're here," she said softly. "He's not the greatest patient in the best of times, but he knows you're supposed to arrive soon."

Courtney grinned at that. "So you're saying you needed back-up?"

"In the worst possible way." Natasha shook her head. "He's sorting fan mail, which is only making the matter worse. Though the pain meds are probably why he hasn't noticed you. They make him loopy. And cranky."

Courtney nodded and headed for the living area. Clint's apartment had an open floor plan, and she saw the pile of letters that had been brought over to the couch. He was currently propped up on pillows, his broken leg elevated with crutches leaning nearby. She quickly hung her purse on the coat rack, nodding in response to Natasha's soft "good luck," and moved across the room. Clint spotted her immediately and started trying to get up. It resulted in a pile of already sorted mail mixing together, a few curses, and one of the crutches beaning him in the head. He scowled at the offending piece of metal, rubbing the sore spot, and that halted his progress enough for Courtney to get to his side. He pulled her into a hug, ignoring the bandage that she could see under his shirt and simply held her in spite of the awkward position. Courtney laid her head on his chest, her own emotions close to the surface and causing her eyes to fill with tears.

She loved this man with everything in her. And she'd known for a while but hadn't found the time to tell him. Now wasn't that moment, either, when he was doped up on pain meds and couldn't get off the couch. Instead, she hugged him as tightly as she dared and felt him drop kisses on the top of her head before letting her go.

Sitting back on her heels, she wiped her eyes and laughed lightly. "I messed up your neat piles of mail."

"Don't care." Clint ran a hand through her hair, making her very glad she'd decided to wash it before collapsing all those hours ago. "You're okay?"

"I'm fine." Her gaze moved from his eyes to his shoulder. "You?"

"Yeah. I'm good." He finally lay back on the couch. "What did they tell you?"

"That your mission went badly." Courtney perched on the edge of his coffee table, having seen him do it multiple times and knowing it was rather sturdy. She laced her fingers through his. "Nothing else."

He used his right arm to shift his position until he was more upright, wincing as he did so. "There was an explosion," he said quietly. "Nat got caught in it."

Courtney threw a startled glance toward the door. "Natasha? But she looked. . . ."

Clint's understanding nod cut off her words. "I don't know how much she's told you of her past, and that's her story to tell. But let's just say she got a similar serum to what made Steve become Captain America. She heals incredibly fast. And she was protected from most of it. I saw the explosion and couldn't get to her because the guy who set it was the same guy who tried to kill me over twenty years ago."

Courtney blinked. "The circus?" she asked, her mind filling in the blanks. "When you were fourteen?"

Clint nodded. "Jacques Duquesne. I don't know everything, just that he managed to get tied in with a big criminal organization and worked his way to the top."

"So he's in custody?"

Clint chuckled and then winced when it jarred his ribs. "He's dead. The cancer killed him while I was in surgery."

Wrapping the hand she held in both of hers, Courtney met his eyes. "You're here, and that's what matters." She leaned forward so he'd know she meant what she said. "That's _all_ that matters to me, Clint."

"Good." He rubbed his thumb along her fingers. "Because I have one _huge_ question for you."

Her eyes grew round, hoping he didn't ask what she suspected he might. While she would willingly tell him she loved him and did want to see their relationship go long-term, she just wasn't prepared to have him propose while laid up from surgery. "O—okay."

He smirked. "What are we going to tell your family?"

Courtney blinked and then, for the first time since she'd seen Sitwell in the park, laughed. It was good to have _her_ Clint back.

~TBC


	13. Chapter 13

**Author's Note:** Thanks so much for the reviews, everyone! There's one more chapter after this. :)

**Cara:** I thought about making the bad guy Barney, but I'd used Barney in another story. So I went with Swordsman. :) And I'm glad this is your favorite story! It's one of mine, too!

As always, hope you enjoy the chapter! ~lg

oOo

Courtney woke the next morning to a muted thump and cursing coming from the bathroom across the hall. She'd sat up with Clint, ignoring the mail that had been mixed together again and just talking. Somewhere along the way, she'd finally dissolved into a weeping mess, and Clint had maneuvered himself so that he could hold her while she cried. He didn't berate her or even seem all that uncomfortable with the tears. Nor did he do much more than assure her that he would be okay. That level of confidence—the kind that meant he'd cope with whatever life threw at him—helped steady her and get her emotions back under control.

After that, they turned on a movie, ordered pizza, and didn't move for hours. Clint did more dozing than watching movies, but Courtney had loved the feel of his fingers through her hair. Because the doctors wanted his leg to stay elevated, he'd returned to his prone position on the couch, and she'd gathered a few pillows to sit on the floor next to him. He'd run his fingers through the ends of her hair as they talked. Once he'd taken his final dose of medications for the day, Courtney had retired to his guest room on his insistence and slept through the night.

Now, she pushed back the covers and quickly dressed. Last night, Clint had explained his limitations and injuries. Thanks to the nameless doctor who tortured him by treating his broken leg without pain meds, he only had to have pins put in his leg, not anything more drastic. But the broken ribs and gunshot wound in the shoulder made moving about on crutches agonizing. Clint was just stubborn enough to try it anyway, and he mentioned going back to Amarillo with her once he was able to get around easier.

Courtney found the couch empty save for the pillow he kept under his leg, a couple blankets, and Clint's pillow. She heard him fussing in the bathroom, scolding the sink for being in the way, and shook her head. No wonder Natasha wished her luck before leaving the night before. Pulling her long hair into a messy bun, she spied Clint's discharge papers on his counter and quickly skimmed them before starting breakfast. By the time she had the morning meal cooking, he'd managed to hobble back out and drop into the couch again, pulling the afghan Natasha had made over his shoulders and frowning at the ceiling.

Throughout the morning, Clint's crankiness started getting on Courtney's nerves. She understood it was one way he responded to the pain meds and that he simply hated being so confined, but having him snap at her was frustrating. She thought about asking JARVIS to call for Natasha and then decided against it. _In sickness and in health._ The lines from the traditional wedding vows echoed through her head—whether because of how Clint had asked her about her family the night before or the upcoming Stark wedding, she couldn't be sure—and she made up her mind. If she wanted this thing with Clint to last—and she did—then she needed to learn how to deal with him. And _he_ needed to figure out that she wasn't going to crowd him but would help if he would just _let _her.

After lunch, Courtney glared when Clint snapped again. She marched over to the desk, where a massive pile of mail still waited, grabbed an armful, and dropped it next to him. "There. Sort mail! I'm taking a shower."

He blinked at her, surprised, as she stomped down the hall. In the bedroom, a slight grin escaped when she imagined the dumbfounded expression on his face. But she didn't give him a second glance when she crossed the hallway and closed the bathroom door. She needed a shower, and he needed something to do.

She reappeared half an hour later to find Clint propped more upright than before, reading a letter with a smile playing around his lips. He really did look so different when he allowed himself to relax. The lines brought on by his job and his life vanished, giving him such a boyish appearance she often wondered if he really was almost forty. He caught sight of her and offered a sheepish smile. "Sorry."

Courtney's own smile reappeared. "I now understand why Natasha wished me luck. You're a _pain_ on medication!"

He rolled his eyes at the pun. "It's worse with morphine. It deadens the pain, but it also makes me unbearable. Just be glad this is something a little less potent."

"I bet you were just _wonderful_ as a kid." Courtney shook her head as she glanced at her feet. He seemed to have some sort of system going. "What's all this?"

Clint pointed at the piles of mail in turn. "That's from women, that's from kids, that's from people probably wanting me to appear for some official function or another, and that's. . . .Those are the letters I'm not sure about."

She reached for one of the letters in the pile from women, opened it while raising an eyebrow at the lavender-colored paper, and started reading. Then, she snickered. "'Dearest Clint,'" she read aloud, making him groan. "'I am writing to express my sincerest appreciation for all you do for this great nation. You are an amazing man, and I would be honored to call you a friend.' This doesn't sound so bad."

"That's one of the tame ones." He reached for the pile, careful to keep it separated, and pulled out a small envelope with more than one sheet of paper in it. The thing smelled like a perfume factory, and the person had "sealed" the envelope with a lipstick kiss. "Try that one."

Courtney saw the teasing glint in his eye and broke the seal. Her eyes widened as she started reading, her jaw dropping and face heating as she continued. Finally, she crumpled it into a ball and covered her face when he laughed. "Oh, wow! I have no words! _Who_ would write to a man they don't know with such. . .intimate. . .details about their. . . ." She shuddered.

Clint laughed. "Now you know why I don't even open them."

She peeked through her fingers. "For the record, I would _never_ do that!"

The expression on his face changed. For a moment, she thought he might make some comment about their relationship. Instead, he shrugged. "Why do you think I like your letters, especially since they tend to come via email?"

The rest of the afternoon passed as Courtney helped Clint wade through the unbelievable amount of mail. She made comments along the way, usually drawing a laugh with dry remarks about the flowers attached to letters, how cute the kids were, or wondering why no one did the sorting for him. If the rest of the Avengers got mail like this, then the mail room in Stark Tower had to be worn out. Clint merely shrugged as he opened another envelope with an unfamiliar postmark.

Then, he chuckled. At Courtney's questioning look, he turned the page so she could read it.

_Dear Uncle Clint,_

_I'm staying in a CASTLE! I can't say where because it's a surprise and a really hard name to pronounce but it's a REAL CASTLE! There's armor and swords and it's creepy at night because the wind blows through the cracks. My bed is bigger than mine at home, and it even has curtains that make it spooky and awesome!_

_Dad said you were working when we left on vacation, so I hope you got home okay. And Aunt Courtney was going on her own vacation. I wish you could have come with us._

_Sincerely,_

_Jeremiah Staterson_

Clint grinned. "I kind of miss the 'Dear Mr. Hawkeye.'"

She shrugged. "I kind of liked the 'Dear Uncle Clint.'"

They held one another's gaze for a long moment, communicating wordlessly until Clint reached for her hand. She let him tug her onto the edge of the couch and down for a long-awaited kiss. Courtney kept things light, knowing his wounds prevented _anything_ from happening. But having him closer to the man she remembered helped her relax even more.

Clint was safe and alive. He would recover, and she hoped she'd be able to spend more time through the coming weeks.

oOo

Clint flew back to Amarillo with Courtney a week later. His shoulder had finally healed up to the point that using the crutches wasn't painful on _that_ injury. His ribs still ached like nothing else, but the biggest obstacle to his sanity was the broken leg. He _hated_ being dependent on anyone, though having Courtney around had soothed a bit of the frustration. Three days after her arrival in New York, he'd finally reached the point he could get around his own apartment with little fuss. It took some time for him to figure out the easiest way to use the crutches. Not for the first time, he was grateful for his upper body strength.

After the first couple of days in New York, Courtney had moved back into "her" apartment in Stark Tower. She still spent a large portion of her day with Clint, but they alternated between his place, her place, the spa balcony, and one where they found Steve and Natasha sharing a cup of tea. Clint's partner and her boyfriend welcomed the pair of them, and the four friends were startled to realize the afternoon could pass that fast.

Now, however, Clint faced yet another obstacle. During her time in New York, Courtney had received several phone calls from her job and her family. He even spoke to Jeremiah by phone, but he knew she needed to see Cole and Dana in person. Which could present a problem. Jeremiah said that his dad was upset for some reason, and Clint had a pretty good idea why. He didn't mention it to Courtney and hoped he and Cole could work things out on their own. Still, he stayed quiet on the drive to the Staterson house.

Dana answered their knock and let them in, her eyes dropping to Clint's casted leg. She smiled slightly when he reassured her that he was okay and greeted Jeremiah, who carefully hugged his waist before enthusiastically hugging Courtney.

Then, Cole appeared. The animosity in the man was clear to see, and he asked his sons to go find something to do. Jeremiah and Josiah, who had also appeared and started chattering about their European vacation, made themselves scarce. Dana mentioned something about coffee and vanished into the kitchen. Courtney stayed where she was on Clint's right, nearby if he needed her but not so close she crowded him.

Cole took three steps forward, not quite getting into Clint's face but coming close. "Who are you?"

Clint had been expecting the question. "Clint Barton," he answered. "I never lied to you about that."

"But you did lie?"

Courtney glared at her brother-in-law. "That's not what he said!"

"You stay out of this!" Cole turned the force of his irritation on her, and Clint had everything he could do to stop himself from defending her. "I'm not real happy with you, either, since you obviously knew what could happen and didn't tell us." He went back to the staring match with Clint. "So, I'll ask again. Who are you?"

Clint sighed. "How much do you know about the attacks in New York last year?"

Cole growled. "That's not what I'm asking! I _know_ you're Hawkeye! But you're more than that, and it's obvious. Now cut the bul-loney and tell me what I want to know!" He changed the curse word he'd started to use when Josiah wandered through, not being as nonchalant as he liked to believe.

Clint held Cole's angry gaze. "I can't tell you everything. But I can say that I work for the government. I had an undercover assignment that went bad. That's it. Rarely happens, but it does. I'm sorry you and your family got stuck in the middle of it."

"Is it likely to happen again?" Cole demanded.

Clint lifted his chin. "I can't say. This time, someone wanted me from years ago. Before I even became Hawkeye. This wasn't a professional enemy coming after me. This was _personal_. The last personal enemy I had from when I was a kid."

Cole laughed in that irritated way of a man who got the answers he didn't want. "So you're telling me you've been a trouble magnet from the time you were a _kid_?"

Clint shrugged. "Happens when you grow up in the circus." He glanced at Courtney and turned back to her brother-in-law. "Look, I can't tell you this won't happen again. It's a very real hazard in my job. But I can say that the reason you and your family were spirited off like that was to keep you safe. There are safeguards in place for just this reason, and the organization I work for looks after its own. Because of Courtney, you're considered part of that number."

Cole rolled his eyes. "Nice way of saying 'Get used to having bad guys come gunning for you every now and then.'"

"They do, and I'll make sure they _never_ go after a member of my family again." Clint's low tone surprised him, Courtney, and Cole. He realized he'd let the assassin out of his cage for a moment and tried to put him back. He ultimately gave up when Courtney offered a proud grin.

Then, he truly understood what he'd done. He'd just referred to her family as _his_ family.

Cole shook his head. "That isn't as comforting as I'd like it to be."

"Wasn't meant to be." Clint hopped on one foot. "With all due respect, I need to sit down."

Cole ushered him into the living room and found a spot where he could prop his foot on the ottoman. Clint thanked Dana for the cup of coffee, and he stayed in that spot even when Courtney's family insisted they share dinner. The animosity coming from Cole didn't fade, but Courtney's brother-in-law made every effort to simply accept Clint.

Over the course of the next couple of weeks, that animosity did change into a grudging respect. Clint stayed on Courtney's couch for the first week before moving to a nearby hotel. He hated the boredom that came with recovery, but he gladly bore it if only to be close to her. In the evenings, they shared dinner and usually talked until Clint kicked her out of his hotel room or kicked himself out of her apartment so she could sleep. Things at work weren't great for her right then, primarily because several of her superiors had taken exception to SHIELD spiriting her away without warning. Courtney bore it gracefully, but he saw the toll it took.

After one such day, she slammed into his hotel room with a glare. "Have I mentioned how much I _dislike_ my job?" she asked.

Clint frowned. "A few times," he replied, knowing she meant the supervisors and not the actual job. "What happened?"

She rolled her eyes. "Nothing specific. I'm just the redheaded stepchild at a family reunion."

Clint refused to laugh even though he wanted to. Natasha had often referred to herself as a "redheaded stepchild" during her first days in SHIELD, and it had become a joke between them. Right now, Courtney didn't need jokes. He held out his hand. "Come here."

She joined him on the loveseat, leaning into his side as he draped his arm around her shoulders. After rubbing her face on his shirt, she sighed. "Thanks. I just needed to get that out."

Clint smiled. "I know." He thought about something that had crossed his mind more than a few times since her first visit to New York, something that he'd never brought up because, frankly, he didn't want to consider what it might mean for them. "Have you ever thought about getting another job?"

Courtney sat up and sighed. "I've tried. I'm overqualified for everything available, and no one else is hiring right now. At least, not at a wage I can take."

Clint met her eyes. "What about elsewhere?"

"Like?"

He held her gaze, letting her know he was completely serious. "LA, Chicago, Dallas. . . .New York."

She frowned at him. "Are you. . .are you asking me to move to New York?"

He shrugged. "If it's what you want."

She jumped to her feet and paced to the window, looking out on the summer evening. "I don't know." She turned to look at him. "I mean, I would do it in a heartbeat if you asked. If it meant being in the same time zone. But I know what New York's cost of living is, and. . . ." She shook her head. "Clint, I _ want_ to, but. . . ." Her voice trailed off, and he understood. She was trying to think objectively, to not assume she'd live in Stark Tower and rely on him for help.

He pushed to his feet and hobbled over to take her shoulders. "I'm not going to pressure you right now. But. . . ." He shrugged, tipping his head to one side sheepishly. "You're not the only one who would like to be in the same time zone. And I know you'd have a place to live." He tapped her lips when she started to protest. "Just think about it, okay? This isn't a decision you make after a bad day at work."

She smiled at him. "Okay."

"Good. Now, how about steak for dinner? My treat."

She rolled her eyes, this time with a smirk. "It's always your treat. The only way you let me buy is if I get the groceries before you can."

Clint reached for his jacket and then his crutches. "Hawkeye's prerogative," he said as they prepared to head to his favorite steakhouse. "Besides, I don't get to take you to dinner this often at all. Let me enjoy it."

They spent the evening talking about nothing and laughing over Clint's innate ability to see below the surface of anyone who walked through the restaurant doors. Courtney hadn't believed him until he pointed at a guy following the hostess to his table. "See him?" he asked. "Corporate attorney, but the way he's dressed tells me he really just wants to own a ranch and do nothing else. And over there?" He nodded to a couple nearby, so caught up in themselves that they wouldn't have heard a grenade go off next to their table. "He's a cardiologist, and she's a pediatrician. They're married. . . ."

She smiled. "How sweet!"

Clint rolled his eyes. "To other people," he finished his statement, causing her to choke.

She finally cleared her throat. "How do you _do_ that?"

He shrugged and took another bite as he thought over the answer. "I learned how in the circus. It just. . . It's natural by now."

The conversation moved on to other topics, and Clint made certain to keep her laughing. By the time Courtney dropped him at his hotel, she'd relaxed, and the subject of work never came up again.

oOo

The night before Clint was scheduled to fly back to New York, he took Courtney, Jeremiah, and Josiah to the circus. He and Courtney had been in the grocery store three days before and saw free tickets for kids. Clint decided right then that they just _had_ to go. Since it was such a huge part of his past, Courtney kept her objections to herself. Her personal experiences with the circus weren't the greatest, resulting in years of nightmares about clowns and the trapeze. Granted, Clint made the trapeze sound pretty amazing, and he was enough of a clown that she hoped this time would break a little of that irrational, childhood fear.

Jeremiah was ecstatic, as was Josiah. Courtney's eldest nephew grinned when they arrived and saw the big tent. This circus had only one ring, prompting Clint to chatter happily with the boys about his days as one of the main attractions in Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders. He gladly paid the exorbitant entrance fee for himself and Courtney, motioning the boys to give their tickets over to the Ticketmaster. Once inside the tent, a family of four made way for them since Clint was still on crutches and hadn't had his cast removed just yet. He smiled gratefully and bought popcorn and drinks for the family from a wandering vendor as a thank you, pulling Jeremiah and Josiah down on either side of him. Courtney sat just behind him, happily leaning forward to hear his stories of his days in the circus. She could see the shadows in his eyes and knew recent events with the Swordsman still affected him. But they also gave him closure, something he so desperately needed.

The ringmaster brought the crowd to order with a dramatic "Ladieees and gentlemen! Children of all ages!"

Clint's grin nearly stretched off his face, and Courtney vaguely wondered if he ever missed it. Throughout the show, he shared whispered secrets, from the see-through blindfold of the guy shooting the apple off the girl's head to how the trapeze artists worked to caring for the animals to. . . .He was a never-ending fount of knowledge where the circus was concerned, and Courtney found herself drawn into his stories. Suddenly, this wasn't a random circus that stopped in Amarillo. Through Clint's eyes, she found herself in Carson's big tent, watching The Amazing Hawkeye perform his latest and best trick.

Clint's memories of the circus were darker than most, less lights and magic and more scrabbling for survival. After dropping the boys at home, he was in a reflective mood and wound up holding Courtney's hand as they sat in the hotel parking lot, reminiscing about his circus days. He told her the grittier stories about Marcella Carson being his first kiss, about the way his brother drew away from him the more Clint showed an aptitude for the bow, about the Swordsman and Barney leaving him for dead, about Trick Shot turning when Clint refused to play the criminal, about Phil Coulson recruiting him from Coney Island. These times were part of what made Clint who he had become, and he often rubbed his thumb over her knuckles as he shared the tougher moments. The first time he ever took a life happened way too young in his—and Courtney's—opinion, but it had occurred in a heartbeat. Clint had been practicing his act when young vandals in Chicago attacked. He wasn't supposed to be out in the field, using the moonlight to prepare for the following evening, but he was. He heard the approaching vandals, saw they were about to break into Carson's trailer, and acted. His aim had held true and Clint, trained to go for the bullseye every time, had taken a life before he truly thought the action through.

Carson had packed up and moved the circus within twenty-four hours, and Clint's record had stayed relatively clear until he turned eighteen. SHIELD knew about that first killing, of course, but very few others did. He'd been sick for days, unable to pick up his bow or even think about performing. Carson covered for him, as did the others in the circus while a sixteen-year-old boy became a man. When he did pull himself together, Hawkeye had an edge about him that he'd never shown before. Even the Swordsman's betrayal hadn't affected him like that, and he'd started taking greater and greater risks with his acts. He bridged the gap between defending the circus and actually killing as a job at eighteen, when he fell in with a mercenary group who appreciated his skills while working out of the Coney Island Circus for fun. And that was how Coulson found him.

The car was quiet for a long time after that, Clint's voice fading away into the nothing while Courtney thought. Her heart broke for the man next to her. He had overcome so much in his life and still managed to get back up on his feet. _How_ did he do that? How did one man endure abuse, abandonment, attempts on his life, a a gypsy's lifestyle, and Loki and still stay the child he was inside? She didn't understand it and knew she'd never fully grasp the level of darkness that Clint held within him. But she understood _him_. He hadn't let that embitter him even if he'd gone through his rough times. He'd found a way to overcome, and that determination showed a strength of character that only hard times brought. In Courtney's eyes, it made him a better man.

And, in that moment, she realized that she no longer had to worry about Clint's job. Up until then, she'd always had a small voice in the back of her head, whispering that he was an assassin and would always have blood on his hands. While it might be true, Courtney saw another side of Clint tonight: a man who had simply done what he needed to survive and had grown into the most amazing person she knew. He regretted many of his life's choices, but his course had been set the moment he ran away from the orphanage. _This_ was the core of Clint Barton, the part of him that she doubted any of the Avengers save Natasha had ever seen. And she knew that she would always love him for that.

oOo

Tony Stark had always been a diva, but he never did anything that society expected. As a result, he and Pepper got married in August of the same year he proposed rather than waiting for months and letting the media storm build. Clint's cast had come off two weeks before, but he still had issues walking without a limp. Stark waved away his concern, saying he could just use a cane. When Clint nearly panicked, he rolled his eyes and asked if the archer was thinking about one of those plain "old lady canes." Then, he and Pepper adjusted their wedding so that all the groomsmen carried a very nice, gold-handled cane just so Clint wouldn't be the odd man out.

Stark also sent his jet to pick up Courtney and her family. He'd insisted on bringing Cole, Dana, and the boys to New York for a couple of weeks, saying it could be the boys' "last hurrah" before school began. Courtney knew Stark cared more for his team than he liked to admit, but it amused her to see him going to great lengths to include her family. He personally greeted them when they arrived at Stark Tower in spite of looming wedding plans and gave the family their own apartment one floor below Clint and Courtney's.

Clint, of course, rolled his eyes at Stark's fussing and simply kissed Courtney breathless once they were finally alone. He grinned when he finally pulled back. "Wanted to do that before I left Amarillo."

"So why didn't you?"

"Because." He shrugged, not really having an answer.

Courtney didn't need one. She allowed him to hold her and happily included her family that evening when Clint decided he wanted to cook French food for everyone.

The following morning came fittings for the bridesmaids' gowns. Courtney dutifully appeared along with Natasha and nearly swallowed her tongue when Pepper brought out the gowns. Solid black with an elegant design, the gowns had sheer fabric over one shoulder with embellishments along the bodice intended to accent a woman's natural form. Courtney had never owned a gown like it, and she blinked at herself in the mirror when Pepper asked her to try it on. Natasha seemed perfectly comfortable, but Courtney felt out of place. Then, Natasha solved the problem by pointing out that Clint would _love_ the dress. And that made the decision for Courtney.

Two days later, she walked down the aisle on Clint's arm with her knees trembling but resolved to appear as graceful as possible. Clint looked amazing in his tux with the cane tucked in the crook of his elbow. The way he simply stared at her until the wedding planner hurried him to walk down the aisle made the nerves about the wedding worth it. Courtney saw the way he continued to stare at her when she took her place and watched Natasha and Steve join the two of them. Steve also carried a cane, and Natasha's brilliant red hair made the black of her gown seem even deeper.

Then, Pepper appeared, and Stark's jaw actually fell open. Courtney smiled at the dazed, speechless expression on the billionaire's face as Pepper thanked Bruce for giving her away and stepped up next to him. The minister started speaking, but Stark's eyes stayed on Pepper. She wore a sleeveless gown with a v-neck that seemed to wrap around her body, the Swarovski crystals edging it catching in the summer sunlight of Stark Tower's roof and forming a blindingly beautiful image. Her red hair had been tucked into an elegant chignon, and Stark almost missed his cue for his vows. But the wedding passed with only one media chopper buzzing the place and being promptly chased off by a Quinjet, and Courtney soon found herself at the reception.

Thankful that she didn't have to give a toast, she found Cole and Dana, chatting with them as they stared at the finery everywhere. Cole had finally relaxed in his stance about Clint's job. He didn't like the secrecy, but he accepted that this was the man Courtney had chosen.

As the sun set that evening, a small orchestra hired for the event began to play. Stark and Pepper shared their first dance as husband and wife, though the highlight of the evening was when Pepper walked into the reception wearing a shorter dress, cowboy boots, and spurs. Stark choked on his drink, and Clint happily pounded him on the back while Natasha offered Courtney a knowing grin. Courtney had smuggled the spurs and boots to Pepper when she came for the wedding, and the reaction to seeing them paired with Vera Wang. . .Worth it!

After the first few dances, Clint tugged on Courtney's hand. He'd been sitting down to give his leg a bit of a rest, chatting with Jeremiah and Josiah about their visit to New York. Now, however, his eyes sparkled, and he smiled that one smile that Courtney was never able to resist. She let him lead her onto the dance floor and stepped into his arms as the orchestra started a new song.

For a few moments, they danced, cheek-to-cheek, and simply enjoyed one another's presence. Clint laced their fingers together, and Courtney knew the time was right. She pulled back to look him in the eye and found herself choked up. Then, she laughed. "Sorry. I had this planned, and it never comes out right."

Clint frowned. "Everything okay?"

"Yes." She put her hand on the side of his face, realizing they'd stopped dancing and were in the middle of the dance floor. "I just wanted you to know that I love you. _Everything_ about you. It's not going to change what I feel at all, and I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that."

Clint stared at her, a stunned expression covering his face for a moment. Then, a massive grin cracked his face as he laughed in relief. "I thought you were about to break things off."

"What? No!" Courtney realized she'd almost shouted and lowered her voice as Clint started dancing again. She draped her arms around his neck. "Never, if I have a choice."

"Good." Clint nodded in that way of his that said he'd made up his mind. His eyes sparkled, and he pulled her closer, whispering in her ear. "Because I've known that I loved you from the moment you called to tell me about the bank shooting. I just never knew when the right time was to say anything."

His voice in her ear sent a shiver down her spine, and he laughed again knowing he'd caused the reaction. They spent the rest of the evening dancing and wrapped up in their own world.

~TBC


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note:** Well, folks, here it is! The final chapter of this story. I considered making you wait for another couple of days but decided to go ahead and post.

As many of you know, this story started out as a small five-chapter, 25,000 word fluff fic for my good friend and beta, **theicemenace**. It has since grown into nearly 70k words. That's full novel length! Clint and Courtney have become one of _my_ favorite couples to ever write about, and I thank each and every one of you for your input in the story. As much as possible, I've tried to take what you've either suggested or mentioned to incorporate those ideas. I appreciate that a lot of you took a chance with an OC and learned to love her as much as I have.

**Cara:** Thank you! I always had the idea in mind for her to tell him, but the original had it differently. I like how this came out better.

As always, I hope you enjoy the end of the story! ~lg

oOo

Clint and Courtney began discussing her move to New York the morning after the Stark wedding. They'd stayed up late the previous evening, making their way to one of Stark Tower's balconies and sitting in their wedding finery while they shared games that made both of them laugh and wonder if they'd lost their minds. They talked honestly about their doubts for their relationship, and Clint's voice grew a touch rougher as he admitted that Courtney's distance from New York concerned him. In New York, she had the Avengers close should anything happen to him. And Courtney found the strength to tell him just how she felt about her recent stint in SHIELD protective custody. She'd understood, but it still wasn't easy. She had occasional nightmares about Agent Sitwell showing up because Clint _didn't_ come home from a mission. Clint simply tightened his hold on her hand and told her that she gave him a reason to come home.

It was a sobering way to end the evening but neither one of them would change it. Courtney also lost one of her shoes when, while sitting with their legs dangling off of the balcony, Clint accidentally knocked it over the edge. The pair of them stared after it. Then, Clint blinked. "I hope no one was impaled when it landed," he said dryly.

Courtney buried her face in his shoulder and giggled, making him smile and showing him just how tired she really was. He nudged her to her feet and walked her back to her apartment while promising to replace the shoe. Along the way, he caught sight of their reflection in a mirror and had to admit that they made a striking couple. With her long hair swept up and away from her face, showing off the jewelry Stark had bought for her, and her long black dress paired perfectly with his tux. . . .He shook his head and managed to say goodnight before retreating to his own apartment to figure out why such thoughts would even cross his mind. Maybe he was also more than a little exhausted. Or just in love.

Her time in New York again ended way too fast. She'd flown out only for the few days before the Stark wedding and needed to get back to work. Her supervisors already gave her a hassle over it and only Stark intervening allowed her to keep her job when she returned. She tried not to throw too much weight around, considering the Avengers friends and not pawns to be used. Stark had no such qualms, and Clint was grateful he didn't have to intervene.

Clint drove Courtney and her family to the jet. While she'd been spending whatever hours she could with Clint and preparing for the wedding, Cole and Dana had played the tourist with their children. Stark paid for everything, so they'd managed to visit all of New York's main attractions in their short visit. Dana also had a new wardrobe courtesy of Stark, and Cole smiled every time he looked at his wife. Their faces when Stark first handed them the credit card with no limit had amused Courtney, who was far more accustomed to the billionaire's generosity than her family. And Clint had nudged Cole and told the guy not to fight it. That was just Stark.

At the airport, Dana and Jeremiah hugged Clint while Josiah waved awkwardly. Courtney hung back, knowing she and Clint would say goodbye after the rest of them were on the plane. Cole also waited until his wife had gathered their sons and boarded the jet to stick his hand out to Clint. "You're alright," he said with a serious expression on his face. "Still don't like the secrecy, but I've seen how you treat Courtney. Just come home next time."

Clint shook his hand, realizing what had happened. No matter what he faced, he'd just been given Cole's blessing. "Do my best," he promised, and Cole joined his family on the plane.

Finally, they were alone, and Clint pulled Courtney into his arms and kissed her. "I love you," he said softly when he pulled back, enjoying the freedom to say those three little words.

She smiled. "I love you, too." She kissed him one more time before regretfully slipping out of his arms and boarding the plane. Clint watched it taxi down the runway before returning to Stark Tower and the life that seemed a little dull without her there.

The next few weeks passed slowly for Clint. He'd been able to start walking without the crutches and only with occasional use of the cane, his ribs had healed, the bullet hole in his shoulder was now a scar, and he hadn't been cleared for duty. As a result, he prowled Stark Tower and seriously considered flying to Texas. But he kept to their every weekend plans, preferring to let Courtney work out her job situation for herself. He wanted rush to her aid but knew she needed to handle this on her own. As it was, she often called just to get his advice, and he found himself looking forward to those calls. He hated the stress in her voice, but he usually managed to calm her down enough for her to think clearly.

She usually ended their calls by saying she missed him and loved him, and Clint's heart melted a little each time she did so. He would categorically deny it should anyone but Natasha call him on just how _mushy_ Courtney made him feel, but he wouldn't have traded it for the world.

He missed her as well. Thankfully, Fury sent him on another mission before he tore Stark Tower to shreds. Natasha had been out several times during his recovery, and Clint had envied her even if she did return with cuts and bruises. So, when he was ordered to report to the bridge of the Helicarrier after being cleared by Medical, Clint almost whooped for joy. Instead, he forced himself to walk at his normal brisk pace and amused himself with glaring at newbies.

After the briefing, he called Courtney and caught her just leaving work for the day. Her voice over the phone always made him smile, but he cringed when he heard her breath catch in her throat. She sighed deeply a moment later. "Be careful, Clint. Come home."

He knew what it cost her to say those words. "I'll do my best," he replied softly. Sitting on the edge of his bunk, he looked around. "How was work?"

She almost growled as he heard her car's alarm disengage. "Remember that supervisor who hates me? Well, she showed up today during lunch. I was on my _lunch break_ and got reamed because I wasn't at my desk. She even went so far as to say that I needed to buck up if I expected to keep my job and that the special treatment has to end." Courtney sounded like she was fighting tears. "Clint, I don't know if I can handle this much longer. Laney's fit to be tied. She heard everything, as did several others who think this woman is taking things too far. But I don't know what to do. I've _tried_ looking for jobs here and in New York. And I just can't. . . ."

"Hey." Clint interrupted with a quiet order in his voice. "Breathe."

She dutifully took a deep breath.

He smiled at that. "How about you fly out to New York when I get back? Over the weekend, instead of me going there. We can see what's available here and pick up some applications."

"I'd love that." She sniffled a bit. "Sorry to get so emotional. It's just. . . .I really liked my job until now."

"I know." He stood and started packing, not needing much for his in-and-out mission in Monaco. "But if you're dealing with that daily, there's no need for it. If you don't have a recourse within the job structure, then it's time to move on." He knew it was a pragmatic way to look at it and life typically complicated things. But she needed to understand she wasn't on her own anymore. He'd support her if necessary.

_That_ thought stopped him in his tracks while Courtney agreed with him. He wanted to support her? He blinked and then realized she'd been saying something. "What?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just. . . ." What did he say? That he'd stunned himself by admitting just how deeply he did love her? It was one thing to say he loved her and have the emotion of it. But when that emotion became commitment, things changed. "Just thinking."

She didn't question him, instead telling him to stay safe and call her when he got home. He promised he would and hung up the phone, wishing he didn't have to pretend he was content in Stark Tower when all he wanted was to have Courtney at his side and know she was waiting when he returned.

oOo

True to his word, Clint called when he got back from his mission, putting Courtney's mind at ease. She wanted to see him so badly that, as soon as she got off work the next Friday, she drove straight to the airfield. The Stark Industries jet and Clint waited for her, and she rushed into his arms and let him simply hug her before flying her back to New York. They landed in the wee hours of the morning, and Courtney dozed off halfway there. She woke to Clint's soft voice and idly wondered why she couldn't do that every morning.

They spent Saturday going around a city that never really slept and picking up applications. Then, she sat at Clint's dining table and filled them out while he made a late lunch. They discussed the logistics of her moving to New York for a long time, and Clint stopped just short of asking her to relocate. That gave Courtney reason to pause. She loved him and wanted to be with him in every way, but she knew Clint needed to want it as well. They'd held off on physical intimacy up until now and, while it had become more and more difficult, neither of them regretted it. Courtney went to bed that evening a little down that he didn't come out and say he wanted her to move to New York to be with him.

Her job-hunting trip to New York passed way too quickly, and she returned to the job she now hated. She liked the customers and duties just fine, but the summer's events had soured her to the _people_. Marcy even urged her to just quit and join Clint in New York even if it put her on the opposite side of the country from her Goddaughter. And Courtney almost did just that more than once. But Clint always talked her out of making a rash move until she had a contingency plan in place. More than once, she almost commented that he was the contingency plan, but she kept that to herself.

All of that changed in October, a month after she started looking into jobs. She arrived home from work on a Wednesday, tired and wanting to talk to Clint. He hadn't been able to come out the previous weekend due to a mission, and she missed him. She had just slipped out of her shoes when someone knocked on her door. Her heart leaped into her throat, thinking it might be him, and she yanked the door open. It wasn't Clint, but she blinked at the person there. "Pepper!"

Pepper Stark smiled. "I hope you don't mind me stopping by unannounced."

"No, not at all." Courtney stepped back. "Come in!" She hugged her friend. "It's great to see you!"

Pepper returned the hug. "Likewise. Though I'm here on business, actually."

Courtney motioned toward her breakfast bar. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Please." Pepper slipped onto one of the stools and accepted the iced tea that Courtney poured for her. She took a sip and then met her hostess's eyes. "I understand you're looking for a job in New York."

Courtney's heart sank. "Clint knew that. But how do you?"

Pepper rolled her eyes. "Tony hacked SHIELD's files and found out that SHIELD knows you're looking. I think this falls under 'To be noted in the file but not to be worried about.' Besides, with the relationship between you and Clint, they kind of expected it."

"Good." Courtney shook her head. "I want to move, but he's worried about my family."

"He's mentioned it a time or two." Pepper smiled. "He misses you a lot. Which is why I'm here. I have an opening in our accounting department that you might want."

"You do?"

Pepper nodded. "I need a comptroller, and I think you'd be perfect for the job. Not only are you qualified, but you're _uniquely _qualified."

"What do you mean by that?"

Pepper's smile widened. "Tony's setting up a small assistant department for the Avengers. We want someone we know we can trust to head up the department. On paper, you'd be a comptroller for Stark Industries. But your job would also entail managing the finer aspects of life with the Avengers. Mail, for instance. Funding, public relations, everything related to the financial and day-to-day needs of the team. You won't be responsible for _personal _finances, just the professional side."

Courtney finally smiled. "I helped sort some of Clint's mail once when I was there."

Pepper snorted. "You should see what Steve and Tony get. I'm tired of it because, frankly, I deal with enough of it for Stark Industries. You won't be working alone, and the pay includes living expenses. Full benefits are offered, as well as stock in Stark Industries and a 401(k)."

Courtney held up her hands to stall Pepper's spiel. "Wait. Let me get this straight. You want to make me a _comptroller_ for Stark Industries? Isn't that a pretty high-level job for a new hire?"

"Typically, it would be." Pepper's smile turned mischievous. "But, in this case, we can't hire just anyone. Because you'll be managing the Avengers' public finances, we need someone the team trusts as well. I can't take the position with my job at Stark Industries. Besides, seeing Clint mope around for three days a week after he visits you is getting old."

"He doesn't mope!"

Pepper burst into laughter. "You don't see it, but he does!"

Courtney shook her head before coming back to the matter at hand. "Can I have some time to think?"

"Of course." Pepper stood. "I'll be in town for a couple of days, and you can call me anytime. I hope you take the job, Courtney. And Tony said he'd fly all the way over here and show up in his suit if you don't."

Courtney snickered. "That almost makes me want to say 'no' just to see him do that."

The two women laughed, and Pepper left. Courtney wandered over to the window and looked out. Her dream job had just been dropped in her lap, but she didn't want to make the decision without sleeping on it. Instead, she spent most of the night staring at the ceiling and trying to wrap her head around what it would mean to manage the Avengers' public lives. Yes, a good portion of it would be financial since the team was technically a "non-profit" organization. They worked for the good of humanity, not for income. All of them had separate incomes, whether from Stark Industries or SHIELD or, in Steve's case, the military benefits he'd earned by being frozen for seventy years. That meant any money that came in for the Avengers was put back to use rebuilding destroyed homes and neighborhoods or funding other charities the group supported. Tony Stark also gave a good deal of his resources to the fund, making it a huge investment that needed proper management.

The next day after work, Courtney met with Marcy and explained the job offer. Marcy thought she was insane not to have jumped on it, but Courtney wanted to be able to tell Clint she'd considered all sides of the coin. So, she also went to her sister's house and, after her nephews went to bed, spoke with Cole and Dana. They were supportive of her decision, whether to stay in Amarillo or move to New York. Finally, after some back and forth, Cole met her eyes. "Go to him, Court," he said quietly. "He might not say it, but he wants you there. And, with that great new job and nice apartment, you can have us come out to visit during the summer."

That made her decision. She called Pepper, who had been summoned back to New York, and accepted the job. Pepper told her to give her notice at the bank for two weeks and to be ready to spend the weekend in New York. Courtney did as she asked, knowing that Pepper would delay Clint's planned trip to Amarillo. She smiled the entire way through her day and had multiple coworkers stop by to congratulate her on her good fortune. But she knew the truth. The job was just a means to an end. And the end was Clint. She was going home.

oOo

Clint was fit to be tied. He'd been unable to go to Amarillo last weekend due to a mission, and he'd planned to spend a few extra days with Courtney _this_ weekend. Instead, an unscheduled and completely unnecessary mission appeared from nowhere, and Fury insisted he go. It took less than three hours to meet with the informant, and he arrived at his apartment in Stark Tower planning to track down the SHIELD tech who thought he could just ruin Hawkeye's plans and get away with it. He paced his home for a few moments before heading down to the gym to work off some of the frustration.

He had planned to ask Courtney to move to New York. While he'd resisted up until now, he was only delaying what he truly wanted. He'd realized that during the mission that kept him from going to Amarillo, and it had only increased his frustration when this stupid, unnecessary, mundane, anybody-could-do-it job popped up. He used a punching bag to work out his frustrations and then went back to his apartment ready for a shower.

Someone knocked on his door just after he'd finished getting dressed. With his hair still standing on end and barefoot, he yanked the door open ready to fuss at Stark or vent to Natasha. Instead, Courtney smiled up at him. He blinked. She wore the same green business suit she'd had on the day they'd met, and her green eyes sparkled at him. "Hey."

He stepped back. "Hi." After closing the door, he frowned at her. "What are you doing here?"

She bit her lower lip, a sure sign of uncertainty, and blurted, "I got a job."

"A what?"

She put a hand on his arm. "I know you weren't sure about me moving to New York. But I miss you, Clint, and I want to be closer. So, when I was approached for a _much _better job than what I had, I took a few days to think about it and then accepted it. You're looking at Stark Industries' newest comptroller and the Avengers' 'manager' of sorts."

"Manager?"

"Mm-hmm." She smiled. "I'll be heading up a small department that will do things like sort fan mail, manage public relations, give statements to the press, and handle the fund that Mr. Stark set up to help finance the Avengers' work. It's a huge step upward, and I'll be able to bring my family out in the summer."

Clint stared at her, his mind whirling. "You're moving to New York?" he asked one more time for clarification.

"Yep."

For a beat in time, she waited. Then, the happiness that welled up inside of him overflowed, and he whooped as he grabbed her in his arms and spun her around. She laughed with him and kissed him as he set her on her feet. This time, though, things were different. When he pulled back, he saw her eyes were just as dilated as his. "So," he asked softly, "where do you want to go for dinner?"

She smiled, an expression that held a wealth of meaning. "Why don't we stay in?"

His answering grin spread slowly across his face as he caught the meaning behind her words. "I'd like that." He kissed her again, taking his time to do it properly and leave her speechless. "I love you," he whispered.

Her face lit up at the words. "I love you, too, Clint."

That night, they stayed awake way too late as they explored their love for one another. The next morning, Clint happily served her breakfast in bed before letting her get dressed to officially join the Avengers' team. He caught Natasha's nod and knew that his partner had accepted his choice.

oOo

One year to the day after they met, Clint dragged Courtney onto Stark's jet and flew her to Amarillo. Since her move to New York, they'd grown together as a couple, and Courtney had never been happier. They had their disagreements as any couple would, one of the most notorious ones being whether or not Clint had truly been reckless during a mission. The fact that SHIELD still monitored her for her safety gave her a moment's pause every now and then, and she spent a lot of time wondering if she'd made the right decision for her life. Then, she saw Clint's sleepy grin in the morning or heard his tired voice when he got off a plane from Europe and knew she had.

She'd known he had something planned for her birthday, but she had not expected to land in her former home town. Amarillo had been good to her, and she had a lot of memories associated with the place. But she loved New York and wouldn't trade the city or her life with Clint for anything. Then, she realized where he was taking her and had to laugh when they pulled into the parking lot of Hausler's. The local steakhouse wasn't all that busy, and Clint grinned happily when he took her hand to lead her inside.

The first bit of the meal passed like any other they shared. They held hands across the table, sampled one another's food, and in general acted like a couple of kids. But, as the meal progressed, Clint grew more somber, and Courtney became somewhat worried. He seemed almost nervous.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "So, I got another letter the other day."

Courtney grinned. "I know. I saw it."

He raised his eyebrow at her. "Did you read it?"

"No."

He reached into his pocket and pulled it out, sliding the sheet across the table. "Go ahead."

She took the page, seeing the anxious expression in Clint's eyes and wondering what this was all about. Opening the letter, she smiled at her nephew's familiar handwriting.

_Dear Uncle Clint,_

_I know we talk on the phone, but my mom would get mad at me if I asked this question. So I had to write._

_When are you going to marry my Aunt Courtney?_

_Sincerely,_

_Jeremiah Staterson_

Courtney's jaw dropped, and then she looked up to see Clint struggling to hold in his laughter. The letter, while bold and panic-inducing if timed wrong, was still the direct, adorable style they'd both learned to expect from Jeremiah. "I'm not sure I'll even _tell_ Dana he sent this!"

Clint snickered. "Yeah, that might be bad." His grin dropped off his face a moment later. "But it got me thinking."

She straightened as he sat back in his seat. "Clint?"

"Look, I know things haven't been easy for you this past year." He kept his eyes glued to the page still resting on the table. "I know you've had to deal with a lot, and just living in Stark Tower is a huge adjustment for you. But I. . . ." He cut off what he was going to say, the awkwardness growing as he reached across the table and took her hand. "I want more," he admitted softly. He finally looked at her, and she saw a depth of emotion in his eyes that she'd seen only late at night when they discussed the future. "I've talked with Natasha about this, and I can't say that I don't have my reservations. But I can't always wait for the right time or the right place or the moment when the world is quiet and everything's perfect. I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you." Now that he'd said it, he seemed to pick up steam. Reaching into his jacket again, he pulled out a small box and slid it across the table to her. "Courtney, will you marry me?"

Too stunned to speak, Courtney picked up the box and opened it. The ring inside was a platinum band edged in a sparkling braid with a large diamond in the center. It was elegant and beautiful and everything she would have wanted. Then, she blinked up at Clint and saw the childlike hope and fear in his eyes. "Clint, you. . . .I. . . .you even have to ask? Of course I'll marry you!" Then, she realized how that sounded. "I—I mean, yes."

He laughed and, with shaking hands, pulled the ring from the box and slipped it on her finger. Their waiter had been watching the table, and he whistled and shouted, "Hear, hear!"

Almost everyone in the restaurant turned and managed to catch Clint putting the ring on Courtney's finger. The entire place erupted into cheers as he stood and, in a rare moment of showmanship, proceeded to kiss her in front of everyone. Courtney laughed as Clint thanked the other customers, and they paid their tab and escaped a few moments later.

Rather than driving back to the plane for a late-night flight home, Clint turned the rental truck—the same one he'd been renting for nearly a year—toward Cole and Dana's. The sun had set before their dinner, but the house glowed brightly from inside. They pulled up and held hands as Clint knocked on the door. After Dana greeted them, Jeremiah whooped from the living room and happily hugged his aunt. As she returned the hug, the light caught her ring, and her sister squealed while Jeremiah shouted again. Cole hugged her tightly, congratulating her, before shaking Clint's hand and officially welcoming him to the family. Clint received a hug from Dana, and Josiah was even coaxed out of his thirteen-year-old distance to share the celebration.

In June, just a few weeks following the second and much less publicized anniversary of the Chitauri attack in Manhattan, Clint and Courtney were married in a quiet ceremony in the penthouse of Stark Tower. Clint asked Jeremiah to be one of the groomsmen since it was his "Dear Mr. Hawkeye" letter that introduced the bride and groom. Courtney wore a beautiful lace gown with a halter top and white ribbon at her waist, the modest train pooling at her feet as Cole walked her down the aisle. Marcy, Dana, Natasha, and Pepper stood as bridesmaids while Clint asked Steve to be his best man. Stark, Bruce, and Jeremiah completed the wedding party with Josiah acting as the usher for the small group. Most of the guests consisted of Clint's acquaintances in SHIELD, and Courtney couldn't have been happier.

When the minister gave Clint permission to kiss his wife, the pair fell apart laughing when Jeremiah let out another excited whoop that echoed Clint's when Courtney first moved to New York. They endured the jokes from Stark, toasts, and congratulations, understandably being caught up in one another. And, when Natasha caught the bouquet, Clint jokingly warned Steve to avoid anything that could be considered romantic. His partner punched him in the arm for that, and Courtney simply grinned as her new husband complained.

That night, after their first dance as husband and wife, Clint and Courtney retired to their apartment—the one with exposed brick and light fixtures and concrete floors that both loved too much to give up. There, Clint showed her that he still had that first Dear Mr. Hawkeye letter, and she blinked back tears at the lovely frame he'd put it in so she could preserve their memories for the future. Then, Clint tugged his wife away from the small gift and the noise of the reception still going on upstairs, beyond happy that he'd had the courage to answer that first letter. Much later, as Courtney slept on his shoulder and he stared at the platinum wedding ring on his left hand, he smiled.

All it took was a simple letter from a child to change his life, and he was so glad he'd let it.

~The End~

_Coming Soon!_

_"Until Then"_

The night of Clint and Courtney's wedding, Natasha realizes how Steve feels about her and panics. Leaving Stark Tower and the Avengers behind, she sets out to find a place where she can simply be. She promises to return once she's worked out her problems, and Steve does his best to give her what she needs. But SHIELD's enemies never rest, and when one of them manages to catch Natasha's trail, it's up to the man who loves her and the team she left behind to keep her safe until they can bring her back to New York.

_Sequel to "Dear Mr. Hawkeye"_


End file.
